


Stars and the Moon

by theoreoqueen



Series: One and Only [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddies!Klaine, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreoqueen/pseuds/theoreoqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From being a single parent on the edge of poverty to now married to the ridiculously wealthy Blaine Anderson, Kurt's life should be a happily ever after. What other monsters could he and his family possibly have to face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! If you couldn't already tell, this is a sequel to my other fic "One and Only" so if you haven't read that first, get to it!  
> Also, hey, I learned the difference between a rated 'Mature' fic and a rated 'Explicit' fic, so woo! Warning: while there aren't any specific details, per say, there is some mentions of rather kinky sexy times activities (i.e. roleplay and light bondage). Again, it's not SHOWN rather than just discussed. So if that isn't your thing no matter what, ye have been warned!  
> In the meantime, hello again everyone! It's been so much fun to write these characters and I'm so happy I'm back. I hope you enjoy the sequel :D

“Class, class, settle down! Now, this week we’ve been talking a lot about family, and the importance of what it means to  _be_ a family. So, next on speaking about  _their_ family is Max.”

Rows of third graders all turned their heads in unison at the student who pushed his chair back and walked down the aisle to the front of the classroom, where his teacher waited with a smile and a clipboard.

He was just like any third grader, wearing scuffed up Converse shoes and a green polo shirt he didn’t exactly  _want_ to wear but had to because he was presenting in front of the class today. His brown hair was attempted to be kept under control, but that didn’t stop the locks from sticking up around his ears and neck.

In front of the whiteboard, he faced his classmates, all who were waiting silently for him to speak. His teacher--a bone-thin but tall woman named Miss Werner, had stepped aside and nodded for him to go.

The boy sucked in a breath before folding his hands behind his back and saying, “My name is Max Anderson-Hummel. It used to be just Hummel, but that got changed when my dad got married. Well, he used to be married before but then he got divorced and then married a different guy when I was six. So...really I have three dads?”

The other students blinked out of their haze of boredom and gave Max a variety of confused faces. Sure, they had heard of two mothers and two fathers, but  _three?!_

Miss Werner cleared her throat, obviously just as lost. “Um...th--three dads, Max?”

Max nodded confidently. “Mhmm. But I only just met my third dad last year. He lives in California and can only see me once every year, so actually he doesn’t really count but he used to.”

His classmates gawked at him, clearly wanting more answers.

“So…” Max continued, rocking on the heels of his feet. “My dad married Blaine, and we all live together. Blaine has a dog named Lacy and then later we adopted a cat named Aurora. They’re our pets, by the way.”

He tapped his chin, as if trying to remember it all. “I don’t have a mom. Well, I guess I  _did_ because only girls can have babies, but the only mom I really have is Rachel. That’s ‘cause she babysat me a lot and helped take care of me as a baby.  _But_ then there’s also Santana, who was Rachel’s roommate before she moved in with her wife, Brittany. Yeah, they all help take care of me too...so I kinda have three moms? Wait, four if you count the mom who gave birth to me.”

The whole class was intrigued, while Miss Werner pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning under her breath.

Max held up his index finger. “Then there’s my uncle Cooper, who lives in Los Angeles with my aunt Victoria and my cousins, Madeline and Sophie. My uncle helps my dad Blaine with the family hotel business because they’re brothers and the only reason I’m related to them is because my dad married Blaine! Oh, and my aunt is a lawyer and my cousins are twins and two years older than me. They sometimes visit.”

“Okay, Max,” said Miss Werner, trying to intervene. “I think we get the picture--”

“ _Then_  there’s Sam and Tina!” Max went on, having the entire class’s attention. “Sam’s my dad Blaine’s best friend. He’s a model and he comes over and plays games with us. Tina is my dad Blaine’s assistant but she doesn’t come over as much as she used to. She’s our dog Lacy’s favorite.”

“Max--” Miss Werner warned.

“ _And_   _then_  there’s my grandparents.” Max began counting with his fingers. “Grandpa Burt and Grandma Carole live in Ohio, and we usually only see them around the holidays. They’re from my dad Kurt’s side. But Grandpa Robert and Grandma Pam are from my dad Blaine’s side. They live here in New York and they have a  _really_ big house, with like, a really big pool.”

“Is that it, Max?” Miss Werner asked, exasperated and rubbing her eyes under her large, magnified glasses.

Max twisted his mouth, studying the ceiling before finishing with, “Santana and Brittany adopted a baby named Luna who turned two years old. She’s kinda like my sister but not really.”

Leaving his classmates totally entranced over his speech, Max turned to his teacher, who looked like she needed to sit down and take a breather. “Does that make sense?” he asked.

“ _Max_ ,” she said while clutching her clipboard, “you were only supposed to talk about your  _family_ , remember?”

He smiled proudly. “And I did!”

* * *

Tilting his head, he studied his reflection in the tailor shop’s three-sided mirror.

Firstly, it should be noted this suit was divine. Custom-made, no less, fitting him like a glove. The suit and pants were a soft, charcoal grey, while the bowtie was black, barely showing hints of tiny white dots. It made him handsome, professional.

Blaine straightened his arms to even out the sleeves. “And this will be ready by Saturday?”

The tailor, who was down on one knee while measuring Blaine’s leg with thin yellow measuring tape, looked up at him and nodded. “Only minor adjustments need to be made, nothing drastic.”

Grinning, Blaine gave his reflection one last look, twisting his torso slightly to get a better angle. “God, this is going to be  _perfect_ for my dad’s gala,” he said as the tailor continued working. “Elegant but not too showy.”

“The perfect balance,” the tailor murmured, writing down notes on his notepad.

Blaine looked down at him, smirking a bit. He wasn’t going to lie, he quite liked this view. A gorgeous young man, just hitting thirty but staying ever so graceful, down on his knees in front of him wasn’t exactly making him sour. “Tell me,” Blaine said, purposely changing his voice to a smoother, more sophisticated tone. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an _amazing_ gift?”

The tailor glanced up at him, eyebrows raised curiously before he settled into his own smirk. “Yes, but not in this context.”

Blaine chuckled. _Oh, flirty, was he?_ “Well, one can’t help but wonder what other... _amazing_ skills you have.”

Standing, the tailor obviously tried to remain professional, a smile playing on his lips as he brushed the front of Blaine’s suit jacket. “Mr. Anderson,” he said, voice gone a bit airy, yet quiet enough only the two of them in the shop could hear. “You are a married man.”

Blaine clicked his tongue. “Anderson _-Hummel_. And yes, you are correct.” He made a show of lifting his left hand up, wriggling his fingers just so the other man could catch the light glinting off the silver band.

The tailor crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow. “What would your husband say? About you making suggestive remarks in the middle of your _tux fitting?_ ”

Blaine shrugged, glad for these couple inches of height the small platform provided, for he could lean down to the tailor’s ear, whispering softly but with no less sultry. “Trust me. He doesn’t mind at all.”

Just as he successfully made the tailor blush by brushing his lips on the shell of his ear, a woman’s voice conveniently interrupted them.

“Baby cakes, just because you're handsome hubby is a valued customer, it does not mean y’all can bring your roleplay in the middle of work, do ya understand?” Jasmine the manager asked, her hands on her hips.

With a hand flat on his chest, Kurt pushed Blaine away and gave her an apologetic face. “Sorry, Jazz.”

The manager, a curvy woman with a bold sense of style and an afro of hair tied above her head, threw one of her hands in the air. “Like, for the love of god, y’all can’t keep your hands off each other for two seconds!” She turned on her head, strutting back to the front counter, followed by customers snickering behind their hands.

Jasmine was incredible, but could never manage to keep her voice low, especially on embarrassing matters.

Once she was gone, Kurt glared up at Blaine. “Nice job, _hubby_.”

Blaine, in the meantime, tugged his jacket straight once again. “Roleplay? Have we tried that yet?”

“ _Yes_ , Blaine. Remember the whole ‘teacher-student’ thing?”

“Oh, yeah. That didn’t really work out.”

“You couldn’t keep character.”

“You made me laugh!”

Kurt quickly shushed him before any more customers could overhear, but it only ended in Blaine mimicking him, then Kurt breaking out in breathy laughter, and then Blaine swooping down to kiss him.

After a year and a half of marriage, he still couldn’t seem to help himself around his gorgeous, magnificent husband.

“ _Ugh_ ,” came the second voice to interrupt them today.

They broke apart, shock in their wide eyes, until they saw a certain eight-year-old with scuffed-up shoes scrunching his nose in disgust at them.

“Why do you _always_ have to be so gross?” Max asked.

Blaine suppressed a snort and Kurt smacked his arm, going over to greet their son and ask how school was.

Yes, a year and a half of marriage also meant a year and a half of being Max’s father. While Blaine occasionally worried--that he wouldn’t be good at the roll, wouldn’t know what to do in specific situations--Kurt assured him he was doing splendid.

Besides, if they were able to embarrass Max in public, they must be parenting well.

“We talked about our family today,” Max told Kurt as he tried to smooth down his son’s hair (which was starting to stick up in places Kurt did not approve of). “And I think I talked the longest. But then when we were driving here I remembered I forgot about Harold!”

Blaine’s personal driver--and now, technically, the family’s chauffeur--was the one to bring Max to school, pick him up from school, and drive him around to his heart’s content (and his parent’s permission). Harold loved Max, as did most logical people on this planet, and was more than happy to go out of his way for him.

But Blaine stepped down from the platform, frowning a bit. “I’m sure Harold’s not too offended, Max.”

The boy snapped his head back and groaned. It was pretty evident he received his overreacting from years of being raised by Kurt and Rachel.

Kurt just shook his head at Max before checking his watch. “Alright. I still have appointments to get to.” He walked up to Blaine, snapping his fingers. “You. Out of that suit.”

“You just want to see me naked, I get it.”

Even though no one else overheard, Kurt smacked his arm yet again.

One could say their little family had their own unique life together. Kurt worked at the tailor shop, designing outfits for customers from all walks of life, Blaine continued working at the _Anderson Suites_ with his father and brother, and Max caused mayhem at school. And after everything they went through before this point, it was their own happily ever after.

So really, what else could happen?

* * *

Like a herd of elephants, footsteps came pounding down the steps, interrupting the peaceful quiet and increasing in volume, soon joined with an excited voice, “ _Grandpa’s here! Grandpa’s here!_ ”

Kurt glanced away from his opened books and magazines on the living room coffee table, craning his head just in time for Max to yank open the front door before the doorbell could even ring.

“Hey, sport!”

“Grandpa!” Max squealed, being lifted off his feet and spun around.

His choices on colors and fabric would have to wait. Kurt sat up on the couch and watched as Robert ruffled Max’s hair, causing it to stick out even more. He commented on how tall Max was growing, even though he sees him almost every other day.

Blaine’s father was not wearing his normal stiff business suit or rigid stance. He did not look haughty or impassive, not anything like the man Kurt was first introduced to. No, Robert had on a college football t-shirt and worn denim jeans. His dark hair streaked grey was less styled, and the corner of his eyes showed prominent crinkles when he smiled at his grandson.

Basically, he was the coolest grandfather any kid could want.

“Hello there, Kurt,” Robert greeted to him, waving over to the open living room. Kurt waved back, and his father-in-law asked, “Where’s Blaine at?”

“Upstairs. Conference call.”

Robert smiled. “Good man.”

“Grandpa, are we gonna leave now?” Max asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Sure, if you’re ready!”

“Max.”

“ _Whaaat?_ ”

“Did you get your homework done?”

“ _Yes_ , Dad.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Then have fun.”

Max grinned, grabbing his jacket before waving goodbye and heading out the door. Robert held it opened for him, but turned to Kurt and said, “I’ll have him home after supper. I mean, usual rides only last a couple of hours--”

Kurt waved him off. “Have fun, you two.”

Normal eight-year-old boys would be going to baseball games with their grandfather, not a private helicopter ride. Then again, Max was far from any normal eight-year-old boy, and Robert a normal grandfather.

Out of everyone, Kurt saw how much his son had grown. Not just physically, but mentally as well. Why, in the last year Max had become more talkative, not just to adults but children his own age as well. He wasn’t afraid to make friends like before. He was more prone to ask bigger questions, less of “Why is the sky blue?” and more of “What’s the difference between boys and girls?”

But he was still Max. Still lovable and funny and creative. His sweet little boy who just continued growing.

Kurt shook his head, refusing to wander too far down that path and instead took focus on his books again, now that the house was quiet once more, save for their orange cat Aurora’s soft purring.

His works down at the tailor shop had become increasingly popular. His unique style had caught the attention of the wealthier crowd, such as spokespeople and businessmen. Kurt personally blamed his husband, who insisted on telling everyone at galas or banquets who exactly designed his suit for that evening.

Still, it brought in well-known customers. One man--an elderly, pale, and balding gentleman who was probably deaf in one ear--came in to buy a sunshine yellow suit. He was so happy from his outfit, he grabbed Kurt’s shoulder with a bony hand and said to him, “I’m telling all my budding apprentices about you!”

As it turned out, that gentlemen was one of the oldest billionaires in New York, and apparently took many fresh, young businessmen under his wing.

Which is why Kurt began getting orders upon orders for young men, most who looked right out of college, who were dying to have a suit just like their mentor. And Kurt, who absolutely loved his job, was more than happy to.

Of course, that meant dozens of suits to be made uniquely, and hours for Kurt to make them that way. He flipped through the binder of different strips of silk, studying each color carefully, before re-reading his notes scribbled down about his latest client.

Nothing too complicated. Just someone named Smythe who wanted something formal yet assertive suit. Which shouldn’t be difficult, but Kurt couldn’t decide between a sea green tie or a deep maroon one.

“Give me a reason not to kill my brother?” came a voice from the staircase.

Kurt looked up, smiling. “Because you love him?”

Blaine sighed, trudging across the marble floor. “Because I love him, that’s true.” His grey sweater was a bit rumpled, and his hair looked as if he’d been running his hands through it multiple times. Still, he lifted Aurora away in order to plop down next to Kurt on the plush sofa, laying back and groaning at the ceiling.

Whoever claimed Max gets his overreations from Kurt needed to reconsider.

“He just gets snappy real fast when it comes to conference over the phone,” Blaine told him, rubbing his eyes. “And, you know, I try to keep calm but it’s hard when he’s--”

“I know.”

“It’s just--he _cares_ a lot over little things, you know?”

Kurt patted his knee. “I know.”

“And I try to reason with him…” Blaine sighed, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Whatever. It’s over, it’s over!” Then, he craned his head at the front door before turning back to Kurt. “Did my dad already come for Max?”

“Mhmm.”

A wide smile stretched across Blaine’s face, and he not-so-subtly scooted closer to Kurt, smoothing a hand across his lower back and to his waist. “How interesting, we have the house to ourselves…”

Kurt could only give his husband a _look_. Yes, after their move to a new home--and a _grand_ home at that. Not like the penthouse they used to live in after the Hummels moved in with Blaine, but more spacious, more of _KurtandBlaine_ rather than just _Kurt_ or _Blaine_. Two stories, a perfect combination of vintage and modern. Downstairs was practically all open, upstairs consisted of the bedrooms and offices--Blaine had become a little...determined.

Determined as in he was constantly trying to spice things up in the bedroom.

While Kurt tried to remind him that, _No, Blaine. Just because we hit thirty does not mean our sex life is over. We’ve been married for less than two years, our sex life is as fresh as ever_ his husband kept suggesting new things. And though admittedly Kurt didn’t mind _some_ aspects (the handcuffs were definitely an A+ in his book) others just ended in them breaking out in giggles (“ _Detention, Blaine? That’s your special punishment?_ ”).

And with both of them working hard at their careers, good ol’ casual lovemaking became more and more sparse.

After studying Blaine’s face, Kurt covered his hand on the waist with his own, bringing it back around so they could just link them. “Honey, you do know I have this order to finish?”

Blaine slumped his shoulders, exaggerating in his disappointment. “Alright. I’ll leave you be.”

“Just give me a little bit, and perhaps I’ll join you,” Kurt teased, nudging his arm with his elbow. “If you promise it can be... _tamer_ than usual.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Tame?_ Did Kurt Anderson-Hummel just accuse me of being _tame?_ ”

“You know what I _mean_ , Blaine,” Kurt said even as Blaine leaned forward, tilting his head to breathe across his jaw. “I know you’re probably going to suggest something... _out there_ , but have you ever thought--” His breath caught in his throat as Blaine kissed the spot under his ear.

So, damn the order for now. Blaine was cupping the other side of his face and mouthing at his neck and Kurt was jelly under his touch. But he was still clear-headed enough to push Blaine backwards on the sofa, crawling down overtop him and covering his lips before he could ask to move things upstairs. Blaine only smiled against his mouth, kissing him eagerly back.

Life was different now, but life was also good. Kurt wouldn’t have it any other way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly...oh, my gosh. The response from the first chapter is overwhelming. Thank you so, so much. Every single one of you. Sadly, I don't think most of you are going to be too happy with chapter too :P  
> Secondly, my classes are starting up soon so I will have to deal with all that, but hopefully I can keep up on updates! But, in the meantime...Chapter 2!!

Their honeymoon had been in Paris. In a cute suite with a marvelous view of the skyline, the Eiffel Tower seen in the distance. A balcony stepped out into fresh city hair, and long white curtains fluttered with the breeze. There was a living room with vintage sofas and a fireplace at one side, and a bedroom with a four-poster bed and lace sheets at the other.

After an eight hour flight, the newlywed couple sighed in relief at their hotel room. Kurt set his suitcase in the bedroom closet while Blaine took the time to stretch his arms above his head, cracking his joints before actually steadying his thoughts to realize the big picture.

He was on his honeymoon. With Kurt. His husband. Kurt was his husband and they were on a honeymoon.

Heart skipping, Blaine turned around where said husband was coming towards him, looking a tad worn from the flight but wearing a sated smile.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” Blaine said to him, looping his arms around Kurt’s neck, voice soft with the little energy he possessed. Although, enough energy to get excited over the idea of _honeymoon_ and _that’s our four-poster bed, Kurt_ as he lowered his eyelids, leaning forward.

Kurt hummed, accepting his kiss but not allowing it to linger. He broke apart abruptly and said, “I’ll check with room service, yeah?” before striding out of the bedroom.

Which just left Blaine in a state of confusion, and it wasn’t the only time.

Blaine blamed it on the jet lag, for his husband wasn’t _this_ oblivious to his hints. He tried to make it as evident as could be--lingering touches on his hands and waists, hugging him from behind as Kurt looked at the view from the balcony, and, of course, flat out saying at one point, “I bet we could top our wedding night, don’t you think?”

All in which Kurt would brush off before busying himself with something else.

Which made Blaine even _more_ bewildered. Like, it wasn’t rocket science or a colossal mystery that during one’s honeymoon, one would want to be all over their new spouse? Or perhaps Kurt just wasn’t feeling it? Even after hours of settling in their suite, the plane ride just set him in the total opposite mood?

Once night rolled around, they finished a room-serviced supper and Kurt had headed out of the shower with a fluffy hotel robe, and Blaine tried one more time. While Kurt examined his reflection in the oval mirror above their dresser, Blaine hooked two fingers under the belt of his robe, startling him enough to have him turn around, and then used this opportunity to tug him towards the bed, kissing him on the way.

“Blaine!” Kurt giggled against his mouth, stumbling a bit on his feet. “Blaine--slow down-- _oh!_ ” He fell forward on his lap when Blaine sat at the edge of the bed, grabbing the front of Kurt’s robe and angling his head to deepen the kiss.

Kurt’s hands were sliding on his shoulders, so maybe this was working? Was a shower all he needed? Blaine decided on not wondering, for all that mattered was his husband’s soft mouth sliding against his and how his sweet-smelling body was so close to being naked, and if Blaine could just find the knot on the belt he could--

Kurt tore apart, hands firm on Blaine’s shoulder to keep him away. “Hold on,” he said, eyes wide.

Before Blaine could ask _what_ or _why_ , Kurt was up and walking away from him, crouching in the closet where their opened suitcases resided. Lost for words, Blaine started to stand, but Kurt quickly told him, “Stay there! It’ll just be a sec.”

With no other choice but to remain sitting, Blaine watched as Kurt then went to the dresser, fiddling with whatever he brought from his suitcase. He arranged the items until satisfied, then hurriedly went to gather something else. Sets of electronic candles flickered in the oval mirror, and Blaine stared curiously at them.

What on earth was Kurt doing?

Now his husband was spraying the air with a flowery-smelling perfume, waving the particles as if to make them float away farther. Blaine opened his mouth, but Kurt was too focused on hurrying to dab his cologne on while scrolling through his iPod at the same time.

“Sweetheart--?”

“One sec,” Kurt said again, robe flapping behind him as he rushed to turn off the lights, the bedroom dark save for the yellow glow of the candles and sparkling lights outside their window. He turned back to Blaine, chewing his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t happen to have your speakers, would you?”

Blaine stared up at him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s our honeymoon, Blaine!” Kurt said, as if that wasn’t already obvious. He gestured at the iPod and then the candles. “I’m trying to make it, you know…” He shrugged, somewhat bashful. “Memorable.”

“ _Oh_.” The world made sense again. “Oh, honey…” Blaine extended a hand, waiting for Kurt to take it before pulling him in, so Kurt towered above him. “This is very sweet and romantic of you, but we’re in Paris! Together, and married.” He kissed his free hand, right above where his wedding ring was. “That’s memorable enough for me.”

“Okay, _but_ ,” Kurt went on, “it is our _honeymoon_. And I don’t just want to...have sex like we do any other time because, this is _special_ and…”

Oh, right. This wasn’t just Blaine’s first honeymoon, but Kurt’s as well. He and his ex-husband married in a courthouse, celebrated with friends, then went to college classes the next morning. There was no time for a vacation of their own. Kurt--the hopeless romantic, the perfectionist at heart, the daydreamer--never had the chance to experience his fantasy.

Blaine squeezed his hand, glancing at Kurt’s other one. “Why the iPod?”

Kurt shook it weakly. “I made a playlist,” he mumbled. “Of just, love songs and such. But it’s seven hours long.”

“Seven hours?!”

“I didn’t know!” Kurt laughed.

“Geez, Kurt, I don’t even think _I_ can last that long!” Blaine joined in with laughing, their joy filling the room and the space of just them. Just them, of Kurt’s knees pressed to his and Kurt’s hand still holding his own. Them. A team.

Kurt just wanted to make this important, which it most definitely was.

“I’m sorry, it’s dumb,” said Kurt after their giggles died down, his confession making his smile fade.

“No, it’s not,” Blaine reassured. “It’s very romantic. But...okay, for this entire day I thought you were _avoiding_ having sex with me. Now I know you just wanted to make it special and I understand. It should be.”

Kurt sighed. “The candles were a bit much though, right?”

“The candles are _perfect_.” Blaine tugged him downward, so their foreheads could press together. “ _You’re_ perfect.”

“More like imperfect.”

“Perfectly imperfect. The best one can be.” He cracked a smile, blinking big eyes up at Kurt. “But do you think my husband will make love with me if we don’t have Adele singing to us in the background?”

“I only put like, _two_ of her songs on here, excuse you,” Kurt teased, scrolling through his iPod once again. “Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s Get it On_ was supposed to be the first one.”

“Damn it,” Blaine muttered, faking disappointment as he took the iPod from Kurt and tossing it to a decorative chair before placing both hands on the side of Kurt’s neck, bringing him down for a kiss, leaning them down on the bed.

There was absolutely nothing imperfect about Kurt in this moment, in Blaine’s opinion. Not when Kurt laid on his back and wound his fingers in Blaine’s hair, this kisses going from pressed smiles to hot and hungry back to pressed smiles. Especially not when Blaine slipped his robe off his shoulders and buried his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of his earthy cologne and vanilla soup before planting kisses to his throat.

God, he loved this man. All those love songs on Kurt’s playlist couldn’t begin to describe how much he loved this man.

Even whispering ‘ _I love you_ ’ to him after Blaine pushed inside didn’t feel like enough. Like those three words were the thesis and Blaine needed to strengthen his statement, by what he didn’t know. Even with Kurt’s legs bracketing his naked sides and Kurt’s lax mouth playing with a smile at the corners when Blaine gazed down at him, rocking slowly, hearing gasps to go faster and moans to go deeper.

So what if Kurt still giggled adoringly when he babbled during sex? It’s all Blaine felt like he could do, when his soul was exposed and his love for him came tumbling out like a tidal wave, words mixed and jumbled together to create nonsense, but not any less true.

Fingernails scraped his shoulders as Kurt threw his head against the plush pillow, his cut-off gasp low and his ears burning red. Blaine kissed them as he drew out his orgasm, feeling him writhe and shake underneath him.

And when Blaine came a few thrusts later, Kurt was holding him, kissing his slack jaw and whispering “ _I love you, too_ ” as Blaine shuddered through his aftershocks, adding an even quieter, “ _I love you so much, Blaine_.”

 _You’re mine and I’m yours._ Blaine smiled as he leaned his forehead against Kurt’s, closing his eyes as they just breathed for a moment. So, perhaps the word itself didn’t cover it all, but his actions could. And he had the rest of their lives to show it.

Being married wasn’t just a promise of _happily ever after_. It was the start of _once upon a time_.

* * *

Kurt went into work that day to be greeted by his manager saying, “Hon, your two o’clock came in early. He’s already waiting in the back.”

Which was only the start of today’s chaos.

He rushed to his work space in the back, where he could indeed see another up-and-coming young businessman up on the platform, checking himself out wearing a deep red blazer in the three-way mirror. Kurt blew out a breath, already preparing himself for what lied ahead.

Sure, these young apprentices paid him handsomely and gave him the opportunity to expand his creative skills, but they were clueless about fashion. They questioned Kurt’s choices even though they had no idea what they were talking about. They would request a color scheme that was completely hideous and think it was the greatest achievement in mankind’s history.

And by the looks of this new customer, Kurt guessed he wouldn’t be any different.

“You must be Mr. Smythe,” Kurt greeted him, trying to not sound annoyed that this man had come here _earlier_ than his scheduled appointment. “If you give me a moment, I can start measuring you and show you possible ideas for your suit.”

The man--Mr. Smythe--looked away from his reflection and watched Kurt curiously as he unloaded his bag of sketchbooks and sewing supplies. He was young, perhaps around Kurt’s age, and tall and lean. His face was angular in the ‘pretty boy’ way and his dark brown hair ever so swooped.

“No worries,” Mr. Smythe said, his smile curled at one corner. “I’m very honored to be your client, Mr. Hummel. Our mentor Mr. Winslow said it’s exactly your suits that will carry us to the top.”

Kurt rolled his eyes as he gathered his measuring tape and notepad. Mr. Winslow, also known as the partially deaf billionaire who recruited all these young men to Kurt. He remembered telling Blaine about him, and his husband laughed before telling him all about the stories of Mr. Winslow at his father’s galas. Apparently the older gentleman was the life of the party.

“It’s Anderson-Hummel, actually,” Kurt told his client, gesturing him take off the borrowed jacket and turn and face him so to begin measuring. “But you can call me Kurt.”

“In that case, call me Sebastian,” said the man, straightening his back and watching Kurt get to work. “Mr. Smythe is my father, who introduced me to Mr. Winslow in the first place. He’s a good man. His teachings will surely bring our hotel chain to new heights.”

Kurt restrained from rolling his eyes _again_. So Sebastian was one of _those_ businessmen, who jabbered on and on about their successes and goals. It was best to keep quiet, Kurt learned, and just nod and hum when necessary.

Which in this case, he did as he measured Sebastian’s torso, and the client kept talking. “ _Le_ _Paradis Rouge_ has been my family business for years. That’s French, by the way. My father hopes to become the largest hotel empire in the nation, if not the world. We already are immensely successful in the Caribbean.”

As practiced, Kurt hummed and nodded, jotting down Sebastian’s numbers. He had a very prestigious tone to his words, not exactly bragging, but more so with the message, _I know I’m better_. A bit irritating, to be honest.

Sebastian then paused as Kurt stretched the measuring tape across the length of his arm, and Kurt could feel him watching him. “You do look familiar. What did you say your name was?”

“Kurt,” he said, somewhat distracted and not at all interested in what Sebastian had to say anymore.

“Kurt Anderson-Hummel, you said?”

“Yes,” he replied, scribbling down the length on his notepad before leaning down to grab his sketchbook, busying himself by flipping open to drawings of Sebastian’s potential suit.

“Oh.” Sebastian drew this word out, his voice enthused with interest. “Yes, I remember now. We were invited by dear Robert but sadly couldn’t make it to you and Blaine’s wedding.”

A beat, then Kurt’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian’s mouth was set in that crooked smirk again. A very sinister, condescending edge to it. “Did your darling Blaine not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Kurt asked, forgetting about the suit or sketchbook for a moment. Sebastian’s grin did not settle well in his skin. _Nothing_ about him did. “Why, do you know him?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Sebastian tilted his chin up, raising an eyebrow and refusing to break eye contact with him. “We went to the same college together. Were roommates all junior year and...well, did what any two gay boys did when they shared a room together.”

Of _course_.

Of course Kurt would have to work for one of his husband’s past lovers. Sure, Kurt was aware of Blaine’s, well, promiscuous past. But that was years ago. Blaine was a changed man, Kurt had seen it himself. But he never expected to _meet_ one of them. Especially when they turned out to be someone like _Sebastian Smythe_.

Instead of snapping back with a flat comment or rude phrase, Kurt kept his mouth closed and his eyes steady, returning to finding those sketches again.

“No worries, though,” Sebastian continued, apparently pleased they were having this conversation. “Blaine and I weren’t exclusive. Yes, we shared similar life stories. Sons of wealthy hotel owners, heirs to their company. But while I actively seeked that lifestyle, Blaine was perfectly happy leeching on his family’s fortune.”

“Blaine _is_ working for the hotel now,” Kurt said, his voice even as he kept his eyes down on the paper, forcing his cheeks not to redden in anger. “He works very hard managing the business from--”

“Still, no one saw that coming,” Sebastian cut in, rolling his eyes. “Like him getting married. Imagine all those boys he slept with over the years, stunned to read that Blaine ‘I can’t be tied down’ Anderson got hitched?” He scoffed slightly under his breath. “To a random tailor, no less.”

Kurt fixed his jaw, knowing he couldn’t start a bloodbath in the middle of his workplace, with all these customers wandering about, no matter how much Sebastian crawled under his skin, getting on his nerves in the worst possible way. “Do you like the navy suit?” he asked, showing him the first drawing.

Sebastian studied it, craning his head before flickering his eyes up at Kurt. “At least it was a handsome tailor.”

Shocked, Kurt sputtered, almost dropping his sketchbook in the process. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Yes, I do like the navy one,” he answered, smirking again. “With a sea green tie? Nice touch.”

No way. No way in _hell_ was one of Blaine’s old lovers attempting to _flirt_ with him, in the middle of where he worked. Where Sebastian was most likely aware Kurt couldn't spit fire back, for the fear of his job in the line.

So, Kurt snapped the book shut, glaring up at Sebastian on the pedestal and hoping just his look alone could speak for his fury. “Listen, _Mr. Smythe_ ,” Kurt hissed at him, quiet enough nobody else could overhear. Sebastian raised his eyebrows innocently. “I’ve played this game before, I know exactly what’s happening. You trying to get me away from my husband by bringing up his past will not work. I love him and he loves me. End of story.”

Instead of backing off, Sebastian simply made a sympathetic noise and stepped down from the pedestal, forcing Kurt to step back. Just a little, though. No way was he going to get the slightest impression Kurt was _afraid_ of him.

“Oh, sweet Kurt,” Sebastian said with a slight drawl in his voice. “It’s not Blaine I’m interested about anymore.” He lowered his eyelids, gaze at his mouth. “Not when there’s another talented, driven man right in front of me.”

It was as if a hundred snakes had made home in Kurt’s stomach. Slithering and twisting uncomfortably, making him want to vomit. He felt his face heat, out of anger, though with Sebastian’s satisfied expression he probably thought it was from being flattered.

Oh, how Kurt wanted to _strangle_ him.

Instead, he squared his shoulders and stepped away farther, one hand clutching onto the sketchbook while the other motioned at the door. “Your suit will be ready in a week, Mr. Smythe,” he told him through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, Sebastian grabbed his belongings and started to head that way, though turned around once more to say, “Pleasure doing business with you, Kurt.”

Kurt waited until the door’s bell let off its faint jingle before he unfurled his fists, cursing under his breath and stomping back to his area.

_Yeah, life’s just great._

* * *

Once a month, Blaine’s parents tried everything in their power to make time for a family dinner. Whether it be cancelling meetings with clients overseas or moving dates of a magazine interview, they would take a night off. Again, Blaine blamed it on the fact that they finally had a grandchild who lived nearby instead of across the country.

Still, he couldn’t complain when his mother would cook her amazing lasagna for them.

“Then we flew over the water!” Max was telling Pam at the dining table in the Anderson-Hummel home, his food hardly touched for how much he was talking. “And you could see the ocean _forever_. And then you could see the city and--and Grandpa pointed out buildings and you could see the hotel from way out there--”

“Max, eat your lasagna.”

“I _am_ , Dad.”

Blaine repressed a snort, glancing at his mother to see she was smiling adoringly as well. It was a good thing they were using such a grand part of their home for good use. Kurt appreciated it for its aesthetic appeal--vintage mahogany table and chairs, tall windows with gold curtains, and a modest chandelier hanging from the center.

Kurt, who pursed his lips as Max in fact did not eat his food but kept talking about his helicopter ride with Robert to his grandmother. Pam drank in his every word, even though she’d probably heard this story five times already.

And Robert--who had taken a break from discussing the business, thank _god_ \--was beaming at his grandson, like he was the light of his life. First grandson, favorite grandchild, it seemed.

But Blaine’s real concern was his husband, who had been tense ever since he returned home from work that day. He stiffly buttered his breadstick, mouth set in this pout Blaine knew meant he was upset.

“Hey, you okay?” Blaine whispered to him as Max excitedly described the helicopter’s cool headphones they had to wear.

Kurt looked up at him--too quickly to be relaxed--and made a smile. “Yeah, of course.” Yet there was that look again. The hesitant second where Kurt looked like he _wanted_ to say something else but changed his mind in a flash.

Blaine could only twist his mouth, unsure what to think.

“Robbie!” Pam suddenly said, lowering her wine glass to grab her husband’s wrist. “Easy on the butter!”

“Pamela,” Robert said, refusing to lower his knife. “I’m _fine_.”

“Remember what the doctor said!” She rolled her eyes at Kurt and Blaine. “Heart problems. Apparently ‘common’ for men his age unless he changes his _diet_.”

“Oh, my dad went through some heart issues, too,” Kurt said.

Pam showed her palm out at Kurt, turning to Robert. “See! Perfectly normal!”

“A dab more of butter isn’t going to kill me!” Robert protested, but with the face his wife shot him he sighed and set his knife down.

Later on, Kurt and Pam chatted in the kitchen while they put away the leftovers as Robert and Blaine resided in the living room, Robert on the armchair as he told Max to close his eyes, for he brought a present.

Blaine rolled his eyes from his spot on the sofa, petting their border collie Lacy while watching his son bounce excitedly and cover his eyes with his hands. Every time they had their monthly dinner Robert brought a present. Sometimes a video game or action figure, other times a new sports item to try and coax Max into physical activities. Sadly, Max was not as gifted with a football as Blaine and Cooper where when they were his age. He did, however, had quite a powerful swing when it came to baseball. Kurt wasn’t too thrilled with that.

Robert retrieved the gift from the bag, and told Max he could open his eyes. When he did, Max gasped at not a basketball or another Super Mario game, but instead--

“A book?”

Robert nodded. “It used to be Blaine’s, when he was a few years older than you.”

Max picked it up, and Blaine craned his head to see it as well. In his son’s hands was an old, battered, taped-together copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.  

“We found it in Blaine’s old things,” Robert said as Max read the back cover. “Considering he hasn’t touched it in years,” he raised his thick eyebrows at Blaine, “I figured you might enjoy it.”

Max gasped even louder when he opened the book up. “It’s a chapter book!” He beamed up at his grandfather. “I’ve read two chapter books all by myself already!”

By this time Kurt and Pam had entered the living room, Blaine’s mother with another glass of wine, it seemed. Robert was telling Max, “This was your dad Blaine’s favorite series. I think you’ll like it. Magic and adventure and all that.”

Max closed the book and skimmed his fingers over the front cover. “I think someone in my class read this,” he said, sounding like he was thinking aloud.

Still, Blaine asked, “Who’s that?”

Which was the wrong thing to say. For Max’s eyes bugged, like someone caught with a spotlight. He stared at Blaine, wrinkling his nose then licking his lips, glancing off to the side with his ears going red in seconds.

“Ooo, _Harry Potter_ , huh?” Kurt asked, coming up beside his son.

Max nodded hurriedly, looking down at the book and then up at Kurt then down at the book again. “Grandpa gave it to me.” Then he clutched it to his chest and left to run upstairs.

Blaine just stared after him, utterly puzzled.

His parents, however, sharing knowing looks, nodding to each other with suppressed smiles. Kurt sat next to Blaine on the sofa and Pam seated herself on the arm of the armchair, the room noticeably quieter with Max’s exit.

“What was that all about?” Kurt asked Blaine, glancing at the staircase.

“Poor kid,” Robert said, trying to hide a laugh.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“His first one, too,” Pam added, smiling against the lip of her glass.

“First what?” asked Kurt, mirroring Blaine’s stance.

“Didn’t you see?” Blaine’s mother asked them, holding a palm out like it was obvious. “Our little Maxie has a _crush_.”

Kurt and Blaine were both stunned in silence.

A _crush?_

“How--what?” Kurt managed to stutter first.

“The real question is,” Pam continued, holding up a finger and looking at her husband. “If it’s a girl or a boy.”

Blaine, still trying to process this shocking information, blinked twice before repeating Kurt’s question of, “ _What?_ ”

“Well, obviously it’s a girl,” Robert said, glancing at his son and son-in-law before adding, “Unless if it’s a boy. Which, there’s nothing wrong with that, of course.”

Good thing Blaine’s brain was too focused on the words _Max_ and _crush_ to give his father a decent glare.

“Blaine’s first crush had him fumbling for words like a maniac, remember?” Pam said, placing a hand on Robert’s arm. “Like all his rambling would describe his feelings.”

Kurt gave Blaine a look, and Blaine ducked under his gaze.

“Ah, but Cooper,” she went on. “His first crush had his mouth zipped shut as he turned red as a ruby. What was he, six?”

“So, a girl then?” Kurt’s voice barely squeaked.

“According to Anderson family logic,” Blaine muttered.

“Poor kid,” Robert said again, looking back at the staircase. His wife nodded in agreement as she downed more wine.

The couple left shortly after, saying their goodbyes and Pam giving them both a kiss on the cheek. Max refused to come out of his room, and the two understood with those knowing smiles again. Blaine waved to them until he shut the door, and then he faced his husband alone at the entry way, who was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth while playing with his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

“He’s _eight_ , Blaine!” Kurt hissed, eyes wide in horror. “He’s still a kid! He can’t have his...his first _crush!_ ”

“Okay, calm down--”

“Don’t tell me you’re not freaking out! We haven’t even given him the ‘birds and the bees’ talk yet!”

Blaine’s stomach dropped. Oh, no. Kurt said ‘we’ as in he too would have to explain it to Max as well. He shook his head, hurrying the uncomfortable images away. “Yes, this is scary and new and...oh, god, don’t tell me I have to be there when you explain how babies are made!”

Kurt just groaned, rubbing his eyes and sighing, “He can’t be growing up this fast.”

Oh, so _that_ is what this was about. Blaine stepped forward, placing his hands on his shoulders to smooth down his arms, in the way he knew Kurt would relax. “Hey, don’t worry. We’re in this together, remember?” He lifted a shoulder. “Besides, everyone has innocent crushes before puberty. Nothing _happens_ with them.”

Kurt’s next groaned turned into a laugh. “Don’t mention puberty. Oh, my god.”

“Should we...talk to him?” Blaine suggested.

Crossing his arms, Kurt shrugged. “I don’t want to push him away…”

Ah, yes. A distinctive trait of Hummel men. Stubborn to the fact that if you push too much, they’ll snap. Lash out, turn away and reject you. Blaine’s seen it, not only in his husband but his son as well.

Perhaps his parents were just overreacting. They always tried to spring parenting advice on Blaine, now that he _had_ a child. But they didn’t know Max, not truly. He’s the one who colored dozens upon dozens of artwork to hang on the refrigerator or in each of their offices. He’s curious and polite and kept learning more about himself and the world.

He’s the one who still gets grossed out when he sees his parents kissing. For him to have romantic feelings for a classmate is...otherworldly. Nothing Blaine could have ever prepared for when he became a father.

Finally, Blaine decided to peck a quick kiss on Kurt’s lips. “Relax, we’ll figure it out together.”

Because they were a team. Married and in love and there for each other, and there for Max as well. Meaning they could figure out their crazy lives together, side by side.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again lovely people! Ah, this chapter took forever to post (darn you, classes!) but hopefully I'll still be able to get them out frequently, even though schoolwork will take up most of my time (darn you, education!) In the meantime, thank you to all who have given me feedback and reviews. I swear, every one of you make my day. So thanks :)

“And, it had five out of five stars online,” Blaine was saying, examining the object in his hand. “So, it must be pretty awesome.”

Kurt could only squint at him, trying to make some sense on his husband's strange behavior.

Their new bedroom was bigger than their shared one at Blaine’s penthouse. The walls were a rich beige color lined in golden trim. The carpet was soft, and the red rug bore intricate designs. Kurt and Blaine seated cross-legged in their pajamas across from each other on the huge master bed. Still made, with its thick honey-brown covers smooth and the dozens of throw pillows in their proper place.

“Blaine…” Kurt began slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think we need to talk about your…” He nodded at the sex toy in Blaine’s hand. “Newfound interests.”

First of all, this whole ‘bedroom-spicing mission’ began shortly after the move. Kurt was a little taken aback with these out of the blue, rather _kinky_ requests, for Blaine hadn’t mentioned them once before, not even during their pillow talk. However, Kurt tried to see his reasoning. Perhaps it was a hidden desire Blaine finally felt comfortable enough to reveal. Maybe it’s the long-awaited distance between their bedroom and Max’s that could now hide the noise.

And with their schedules being so hectic, all their alone time at night consisted of trying out these ideas. Not that Kurt minded at first. After all, when they still lived in the penthouse _he_ was the one who purchased those furry handcuffs. They seemed interesting, and happened to grant him some of the best orgasms of his life.

But now, Blaine’s obsession had gotten a bit ridiculous. Kurt needed an explanation.

In the dim light of the bedroom, his husband’s face fell at the words, and he lowered the fancy yet intense-looking vibrator. “Do you not want to? Because, I’d be up if you wanted to try it on me or--”

“No, Blaine, that’s not--” He closed his eyes, shaking his head before exhaling. “I just don’t know _why_ you want to try all these...new sex things.”

“Well, why not?” Blaine asked, smiling somewhat hesitantly. “I mean, we have this chance to discover what we like together, and...um…”

It had been a new kink almost every time, though. Ranging from roleplay to light bondage--Blaine had a new idea every time. Besides, what was wrong when it was just _them?_

A sudden thought crashed through Kurt, causing his chest to hitch and his eyes widen. “Do you--” he said. “Am I boring you?”

“What? No, no, absolutely not!” Blaine quickly set the toy aside, hurrying to take both of his hands in his. “No, I love being with you, Kurt. You could never _bore_ me.”

“Then what is it?” Kurt asked, eyebrows furrowed, insecurity still itching at his skin. He knew Blaine was being honest, but still…

It’s not like Blaine was the only one keeping a big secret. Kurt’s, however, was deeper than constantly attempting to liven up sex. He had been married before. Of course he didn’t want his second marriage to end up anything like that, with regret and hatred and--

_Blaine, just tell me if I’m not making you happy._

Ducking his head, his husband sighed and looked down at their linked hands, playing with his fingers until they became laced with his. “I dunno,” Blaine admitted softly. “I guess…” He shrugged, almost bashfully. “I didn’t want to bore _you_.”

Kurt blinked, now completely confused. “What?”

“Well, you know what they say!” He scooted a bit closer, throwing a hand up. “That...married sex gets dull after a while and...couples lose that _spark_ and--I dunno! I just didn’t want to lose that with you!”

Mouth parting, Kurt was at a loss for words. Blaine wasn’t bored, not at all. He was so determined to keep their wild, desperate love that he--

Kurt bit back a snort.

“Why are you laughing?” Blaine asked, now embarrassed.

“Because!” Kurt giggled, his entire body shaking with it. “Oh, my god, Blaine. This might be one of the most unnecessary sweetest thing you’ve done.”

“I’m not--this is supposed to be _sexy_ , not sweet!”

Calming down, Kurt shook his head again, holding Blaine’s hands firmly. “Honey,” he said, looking up to meet his eyes. “We have been married for almost two years, and been together for three. We are _far_ from losing that spark.”

“But--”

“Listen.” Kurt shifted up to his knees, snaking his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. “Your concern was very thoughtful. I don’t want anything to be dull with you, either. And with how much I love you, I doubt it ever will.”

Blaine pouted. “But…”

“ _But_ ,” Kurt interrupted. “Call me old fashioned, but I personally like it when it’s just you and me and without any…” His eyes flicked over to the vibrator. “ _Quake-Machine 9000_.”

Blaine groaned before ducking his head down, eyes squeezed shut and obviously trying not to laugh. “Five out of five stars. Third-level orgasms, they said.”

He rolled his eyes. _Oh, his ridiculous, wonderful husband_. “Maybe later we can try all these...crazy sex toys you find on the Internet. But for now, can it just be us?” Hooking a finger under Blaine’s chin, he lifted his head up, showing him his crooked smile. “Please?”

One could argue Blaine’s puppy-dog eyes were the most successful weapon in the world, but it couldn’t match Kurt’s big pleading heart-eyes he occasionally but effectively used. The kind he knew Blaine’s cheeks would pinken at and his he couldn’t help but smile back.

“You,” Blaine finally said, eyelids lowered, hands finding their way across the small of Kurt's back, “do not need to ask me twice.”

Their lips connected, easy as that. As natural as breathing. Kurt laughed against his mouth when Blaine leaned him backwards, hovering over top him and kissing him again and again. Nothing forced, no desperate attempts to keep a spark, for there was no need. Their spark was a burning inferno, steady and as warm as being in the arms of someone you loved.

No scary vibrators were used, though Kurt couldn’t help but eye it again after he straddled Blaine’s hips and sank down on him (“That has to be twice the size of you, Blaine.” “I’m _sorry_ , okay!”).

Who could dare call them _dull_ when Blaine grabbed the back of Kurt’s neck, pulling him forward to kiss him messily when Kurt began lifting up and down at a wild pace, whining and panting. Kurt’s fingers twisted into the once-made covers, his jaw slack as Blaine’s hips thrusted up to meet him, hard and so, _so_ amazing.

The air felt too hot and his skin prickled with sweat, but Kurt could hardly care about those things when he watched his husband come, groaning out his name with a jumble of other words and biting his fingernails in Kurt’s arms. He kissed his jaw, about to breathe out, “ _Sweetie, I’m really close”_ when Blaine flipped them over, landing Kurt on his back once again and kneeling between his spread legs.

“Hey, what are you…?” Kurt began, somewhat confused when Blaine eased out and tied up the condom, but his question was soon answered as Blaine parted his thighs and wrapped his mouth around him.

Who needed highly rated sex toys when Kurt had _this?_ His husband’s wet and hot and _wickedly talented_ mouth around his dick, eliciting broken moans as Kurt arched off the mattress, so lost in the feeling of Blaine’s fast bobbing he rambled out a mix of, “ _I love you_ ” and “ _Oh god, oh fuck_.”

His orgasm caught him by surprise, his shout ringing across the walls, but Blaine still cleaned him up diligently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he crawled back up to him, showering his sweaty collarbone in kisses as Kurt came down from the aftershocks, the room gradually growing less and less dizzy.

“You,” Kurt breathed out, tilting his head to find Blaine. It’s all he felt like he was capable of saying.

Blaine’s nose nudged his jaw, then he chuckled into his ear. “And you tease _me_ for babbling,” he whispered.

Glaring at the ceiling, Kurt smacked Blaine’s arm, which only resulted in them laughing together, giddy and loud and happy.

* * *

The Saturday gala took place in the ballroom of an _Anderson Suites_ hotel that was surrounded by other towering skyscrapers. With a very formal theme of deep purple drapes and white-linen tablecloths topped with blossoming centerpieces, guests in elegant attire filled the room with their chatter and buzz.

Max was one of them, though his contribution to the noise was clinking his silverware against the tabletop to make a “drumming” sound. Kurt blamed Sam, who had influenced the habit and was nodding his head to the boy’s off-beat. Though, with the icy glare Kurt shot them both, the two hunched back in their seats guiltily.

No, this was not Max’s first gala. His first one happened during Kurt and Blaine’s engagement, where he wore a powder blue suit custom-made by his father and kept asking about literally everything in the room. From the chandeliers to the people speaking to “Why do I have so many forks, Daddy?”

And the reporters, who were filming the banquet for whatever news station they were from. While most cameras were far away from their table, Max made it a mission to wave at each one that panned their way.

He was truly the life of the party.

“Already received six compliments on my suit,” Blaine leaned over to say to Kurt, tugging on his charcoal-grey lapels happily. “Nicely done, darling.”

Kurt smiled and flourished a hand. “I do try.”

Dinner was served, and Sam started conversation about a new girl in his life, even with his mouth full of food. Apparently, she was an up-and-coming singer Mercedes Jones, who Sam kept calling “Beautiful” and “Amazing” in every other sentence.

“Aw,” Blaine cooed. “You’ve got it so bad.”

“Hey!” Sam protested, pointing his fork at Blaine. “You had it just as bad when you met Kurt!”

Kurt nudged his husband’s arm as Sam muttered, “Let’s be honest, you still have it bad.”

Afterwards, Blaine’s mother took the stage, the room growing silent as she approached the microphone. Her gown a shimmering emerald green and her hair tied up in a high bun, she smiled at the audience and said, “Robert apologizes he couldn’t make it tonight. Doctor’s orders, after all.”

The guests chuckled, knowing all too well about their host’s medical issues, and the inside jokes on how with his wealth, he’ll be cured in no time.

Pam then recited the usual, thanking everyone present tonight and everyone who donated to the charity. She thanked the musicians, then gave a shout out to Blaine and her lovely son-in-law and grandson. That received applause, and Kurt felt all eyes and cameras trained at their table.

Which is what happened when you married into one of the richest families in New York.

Journalists and paparazzi used to ignore him at events like these. At first, they figured he was just another one of Blaine Anderson’s ‘handsome plus-ones.’ But after Kurt began showing up again and again, soon with a ring on his finger, they started to take interest.

After all, who wouldn’t want to read about the heartbreaker Blaine turning a new leaf, becoming a new man with a husband and child?

When the clapping died down, Pam talked about one more guest. “And thank _you_ , Benson Winslow, for making the largest donation to our cause.”

A louder applause rose as an elderly man across the room stood from his chair, one eye squinted as he smiled toothily and raised a hand to wave. Although, him being up too long from a chair caused great distress to the young men seated with him, for they quickly hurried to help him sit back down.

Kurt gasped, leaning over to Blaine. “I can’t believe he’s here! _I_ designed his tuxedo!”

“Yellow really looks good on him,” Blaine commented.

“Oh, hush, it’s his favorite color.”

Though Kurt’s pride slowly started to fade as he kept looking at Mr. Winslow’s table. Those young men--his “apprentices”--were practically slaves to his every word. They gobbled up whatever he said and was ready at a moment’s notice to please. Though, the billionaire didn’t seem to want this from them. He seemed happy just to have so many people listen to his stories.

Among those young men, one who stayed reclined in his chair and had a rather bored look on his face, was Sebastian.

Kurt’s stomach dropped.

Sebastian grazed his eyes over the party, eventually coming to land on Kurt. He snapped out of his haze, quirking a smirk and sitting straighter, gesturing at his navy suit as if to say, _See?_

No, no, no, this was not happening. Kurt had forgotten all about the rude, inappropriate client he met earlier that week. He had meant to casually ask Blaine about him, perhaps rant how horrible he was, but considering Jasmine had taken care of the order and he and Blaine had just made peace with a problem between themselves--

Oh, no. _Blaine_.

His husband, who was giving Sam permission to take Max over to the chocolate fountain, had no idea. How could Kurt tell him now, in the midst of a public gala with journalists ready to gossip at a moment’s notice? _Oh, honey, I met one of your past lovers who also flirted with me in the middle of work and I didn’t have the chance to murder before tonight…_

“Hey, I’m gonna talk to my mom for a sec,” Blaine suddenly said, standing and giving Kurt a quick kiss on the cheek before walking away.

Kurt was still too stunned to beg for him to stay.

Because now he was alone at his table, with Sebastian gone from his seat and heading towards him, through the mingling crowd with that same _stupid_ smirk on his face. Letting the anger boiling in his chest fuel him, Kurt promptly stood as well, refusing to stay and wait for Sebastian to come to him.

They met in the middle, and the other man remained calm and interested as Kurt snapped at him in the quietest voice he could manage at a gala, “You can smirk all you want, _meerkat_ , but I refuse to have you creep on me any longer--”

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Sebastian said, ignoring Kurt’s words and gracefully grabbing two champagne glasses from a passing waiter. “I’m assuming he was yours before Blaine came in the picture, yes?”

Kurt scowled at him. “ _That_ is none of your business.”

“Kurt, Kurt,” Sebastian clicked his tongue, holding out one of the glasses for him. “There’s no need for your spite. We’re at a party, remember? And you are far away from your husband.”

Kurt didn’t even look at the offered drink. “Yes, _my_ husband. Who _you_ need to stay the hell away from.”

Sebastian sighed. “Did you forget what I said last time? How can I be interested in Blaine when there’s someone like _you_ to go after?”

For a split second, Kurt considered actually accepting the glass, only to use it to smash over Sebastian’s head. Sadly, he did not get the chance, for in that moment of silence between the two, a hand had touched the small of Kurt’s back, and a voice beside him said, “What’s going on here?”

Of all people here to interrupt their conversation, it had to be Blaine. He looked rather confused, eyeing Kurt’s tight and angry face then over to Sebastian, who sparked familiarity in Blaine’s eyes.

“Blaine!” greeted Sebastian, raising the other champagne glass. “It’s been too long!”

“I--Sebastian?” Blaine stammered, glancing between Kurt and him now, his face going from bewilderment to panic. “Hi, yeah, um--d-do you two know each other?” He laughed nervously.

“Of _course_ ,” Sebastian answered, grinning at Kurt. “Is there any other person in New York talented enough to design _this_ suit?”

“The--you designed his suit?”

“He has quite a gift, Blaine, you should be proud,” Sebastian said, his stare unwavering to Kurt’s. “It fits in all the right places.”

Kurt could feel Blaine tense the same time he did, and Sebastian better thank all his lucky stars Kurt did not pounce and rip his throat out right then. The tension between the three of them was so thick, you could suffocate from it.

Sebastian blew out a breath, checking his watch before turning to look at his table. “Ah, time to take our dear Mr. Winslow to the after-party. Apparently the old coot can’t function on his own without the dozen of us watching his every move.” He rolled his eyes dramatically before smiling thinly at the two. “It was nice catching up with you.”

He gave a final look to Kurt before walking away.

When he was out of earshot, Blaine slowly faced him, his eyebrows drawn down. “What...in the hell--”

“Ugh, I want to _slice_ that _idiotic_ smirk off his _face!_ ” Kurt told him, shivering and balling his hands into fists.

“What did you…?” Blaine gulped. “I mean, did he say anything, uh, interesting?”

Kurt, who was in the middle of counting to ten, looked over at Blaine, who appeared both embarrassed and worried. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, shaking his head and saying, “Don’t worry about it.”

But when Blaine’s concern and humiliation just increased, Kurt caved and added, “He--he did mention your guys’...history.”

“Oh.”

“Which, you know, is awkward enough but then he just kept talking and _bragging_ and--” Kurt groaned again, fighting every urge to just rant to the entire room. Though for Blaine’s sake and his own, he kept it short. “He was very patronizing and I wish to punch him in the face.”

“Oh, my god,” Blaine did laugh, and it made Kurt feel somewhat better. “Well, I never expected to see him again, that’s for sure.”

“Your taste was awful back then, Blaine.”

“Hey, let’s just hope he doesn’t come back again.”

Which was all Kurt could do. Hope. A very out-of-his-control notion, which he did not like in the least. He crossed his arms, inhaling deeply as Blaine rubbed his arm as comfort, Kurt’s eyes trained at Mr. Winslow’s table, where indeed a dozen men were fluttering around him. A particular man in the background again, looking very calm and at ease and _in control_.

Just what Kurt needed. An unwanted memory from the past derailing his life, spinning his world out of orbit and ruining everything _out of Kurt’s control_. The thought made him sick, because this time was almost worse.

Kurt finally had everything settled, and Sebastian was planning on happily ripping it from its roots.

* * *

“Rachel, I know you’re super excited for your possible Tony nomination,” Kurt said for probably the fifth time. “But I really do need to go swimming.”

His friend sighed dramatically from the other line, and he could almost see her tiny pout. “Fine. I’ll let you go. But when I hear more news I’m calling you back no matter what the circumstances, do you understand?”

“Loud and clear, Miss Berry.”

“You sound like my publicist.” She then squealed. “Oh, Kurt, this is so amazing! My dreams are so close to coming true I can practically _taste_ it.”

If there was anything Rachel Berry was, it was determined. Nothing can stop that girl from reaching her goals, especially where they are something as grand as possible Tony Award nomination. Kurt smiled, watching his distorted feet in the pool water, and said his goodbyes with a sigh.

Babysitting days never usually meant swimming in their outdoor pool on a late August day. But, it was Max’s request, and the baby had practically charged to the pool as fast as her tiny feet would take her. Their in-ground pool was in their spacious backyard, something city folk never dreamed of owning. Square and simple, with a patio around it and Kurt sitting at the edge, his lower thighs submerged and his pants rolled up past his knees.

The sun, at least, was warm enough to be pleasant. Max had his red and blue Spiderman swim trunks on, his hair a floppy mess as he waved a dog toy above the water, tempting Lacy to jump in with them. While the border collie whimpered at the edge, head craned out over the water but her toes barely hanging over the stone lip, high-pitched giggles could be heard from the other end.

Luna Lopez-Pierce was truly one of a kind. She was an adorable thing, her brown eyes always wide and curious, framed with long eyelashes. Her hair was dark, almost black, and was always tied in interesting new hairstyles her mother Brittany conjured up (today had three little ponytails tied in different colored ribbons). She was two now, ready to waddle around and declare loudly, “Mama!” or “Maxie!”--her favorite phrases. Sometimes her vocabulary stretched to, “Doggie!” and “B-aine!” Though, when she wanted Kurt’s attention, it was always, “Da-da!”

Which was...weirdly comforting.

Santana didn’t mind, surprisingly. In fact, the first time she heard her daughter call Kurt that she threw her head back and cackled, wiping her eyes and promising Kurt she would never mother his child in a million years. Brittany, however, said she “wouldn’t mind getting naked with that booty.” To say the least, Kurt changed conversation quickly.

Still, the Lopez-Pierce’s were their friends, and Kurt and Blaine were more than happy to look after their daughter while the two ran errands or wanted a date night. Luna, having a mix of Santana’s fierceness and Brittany’s curiosity, made sure they were never bored.

Her swimsuit was a bright pink, a logo of Hello Kitty in the center of her chest. Holding her afloat was a tube in which she sat in, the front having an inflatable duck head. Right now, the most entertaining thing in the world wasn’t the pool in general, rather watching as a curly-haired man popped up from the water in front of her, saying “Boo!” as she squealed, then seeing him disappear under the water and pop up again.

Kurt smiled, setting his phone aside and leaning back on his palms, watching Blaine connect so naturally with the little girl. Blaine, of course, loved her right away, and Luna was technically to blame for Blaine’s baby-craze era. However, that whole debacle had been solved a long time ago, and Blaine agreed to stop his longing for their own baby. After all, Luna already had him wrapped around her finger, what more could he need?

Still...Kurt couldn’t help but tilt his head and wonder. It was Blaine who adored Luna, doted over her like a princess. It was him who played with her the most, made her laugh like that, made her delighted. Kurt cared for her as well, but nothing compared to Blaine’s adoration. Why on earth did Luna label Kurt as “Da-da” then?

Oh, he remembered when Max called him that. Back when he was as tiny as Luna, when it was just the two of them, living alone in that shoebox of an apartment. When he always managed to unlace his shoes and switch them around when Kurt wasn’t looking. Though, soon enough Max had begun calling him “Daddy,” and then more recently just, “Dad.”

Kurt’s heart gave out a tiny, hollow ache. Sometimes, he missed his little Max, full of innocence and happiness and life. Seeing Luna--hell, seeing any baby nowadays--made him wish…

“Darling, are you ever coming in?” Blaine asked, gasping a bit from emerging from the pool for the twelfth time, blinking droplets out of his eyes and raising his eyebrows Kurt’s way.

“Come in, Dad!” Max called, jumping in place with his hands in the air and landing under the surface, causing a big splash.

Kurt shook out of his reverie, putting on an apologetic smile. “I’m perfectly fine being dry right here, thanks.”

“So, if you accidentally got _wet_ would you--?”

“Blaine, I swear to god.”

Then, a faint doorbell could be heard, and all four plus Lacy turned their heads that way. Kurt smirked, looking at Blaine as he stood up. “I’ll be right back, hold down the fort.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and made a salute. “Whatever you say, chief.”

“Is it Santana and Brittany?” Max called in distress as Kurt walked towards the back door. “Aw, no! I don’t want Luna to leave yet!”

The doorbell rang two more times through the empty house. Kurt tried drying his lower legs off the best he could while walking faster, mumbling under his breath, “Jeez, I’m coming, calm down.”

He could see a single female silhouette through the hazy oval window, meaning only one of the mothers came to pick up Luna. Which was odd, considering the two almost did everything together, but Kurt didn’t worry too much about it. He unrolled his jeans back to their proper place, inhaling deeply before opening the front door.

He froze in place from pure confusion.

A woman stood at their doorway, that was true. She was very beautiful, with parted red lips and an angelic face. Her blonde hair was straight and stopped at her shoulders, her hands were folded in front of her blue dress. Though a complete stranger, Kurt felt like he’d seen her before in a distant memory.

She blinked and cleared her throat, holding her chin up a bit and appearing less wary and more professional, in control. “Kurt Hummel-Kelly?”

Wow, a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. One that didn’t exactly bring pleasant feeling. “Uh, it’s Kurt Anderson-Hummel now,” he said, still holding the handle to the door, feeling incredibly lost and uncomfortable.

The woman was obviously taken aback, her eyes widening and her trimmed eyebrows knitting together. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just...you’re not with Liam anymore?”

“Okay, back up.” Kurt crossed his arms, not taking any more mysterious undertones with this woman. No one comes to his home saying the name of his ex-husband without an explanation. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

Again, she too was just as confused as Kurt felt. “I can’t believe it. You don’t remember me?”

From Ohio to New York, Kurt had met a lot of people during his life. Was she a performer during Broadway? A classmate forgotten from high school? Wait, no, those eyes. Brown but almost hazel, more of a golden-coppery gleam to it.

She sighed, smiling softly and placing a hand over her chest. “I’m Quinn Fabray. Max’s surrogate mother, remember?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for such a late update, guys! I'm still trying to work around writing time versus school time, but I did get this chapter out here today so, achievement! :D thank you to everyone reading and commenting and leaving kudos. Y'all are amazing and I hope you have a wonderful day! <3

By rule, no one was allowed to enter Kurt’s office without special permission. Blaine could not come in without knocking, and if he knocked or made any interruption while Kurt was working, there would be severe consequences including scary glares and deep frowns. Max could not play in there, but he could watch his dad work his magic if he vowed to sit still and not touch anything. No pets were allowed to step foot inside. That workspace was Kurt’s and Kurt’s alone.

Blaine promised that area to him when they first looked at the house, and to Kurt it felt like a dream come true. To live almost his whole life being constantly cramped, constantly crowded, and constantly caged, this spacious and marvelous office was truly a long-awaited relief.

It was big and open, with tall windows lining the walls where bookshelves did not. The floor was a deep hardwood, and the walls were almost a wooden chocolate brown. It gave off a Victorian vibe, given the polished antique bookshelves and large wooden desk. Mannequins with half-finished projects and baskets of multiple fabrics littered the room, while sheets of music could be found amongst the shelves.

The only reason Quinn Fabray was allowed in here was because Kurt did not want to risk his family entering the living room or dining room and seeing her, therefore asking questions. No, Quinn Fabray was the exception, given her explanation for coming to their house in the first place.

She sat on the other side of the desk, in a patterned chair which fit the office’s theme. Kurt sat on his comfortable leather chair, where usually he’d be sketching or designing in, but now was stiff with his arms crossed tight. The silence between them was thick and tense, but if Kurt spoke now, it wouldn’t be pretty.

This wasn’t the first time a memory from the past popped randomly into his life. Liam, however, was more assertive than Quinn’s arrival. He was brash and angry, harassing Kurt when he didn’t get his way. Quinn had an elegance to her methods, and sat in the chair calmly but with a focused face, her intentions clear as day.

“You have a lovely home,” she finally said, gazing at the decor.

He fixed his jaw, forcing himself to calm down. He didn’t know why she came, there was no reason to be angry just yet.

“Why are you here?” he eventually asked, keeping his voice even.

Quinn turned her head at him, smiling a little. “Is it so bad that I visit now and then?”

“‘Now and then?’” he asked. “It’s been eight years. The contract--”

“Yes, I know the contract.” She flicked her eyes to the side, fidgeting with her hands. “But, you don’t understand what it’s been like.”

Jaw dropping, Kurt decided now was the time to be angry. “Don’t understand what it’s been like? Oh, Ms. Fabray, you have _no idea--_ ”

“Mr. Hum--Kurt. I know this is out of the blue but _please_ , listen to me,” she said, not pleading but determined, her eyes sharp and in focus again. Once Kurt took a breath and sat back in his chair, she continued, “I know you and Liam never expected to see me again. I was the one who suggested the contract in the first place.”

“Okay, first off,” Kurt interrupted, “Liam and I are _not_ together anymore. At all.”

She nodded. “I understand. But still, you have Max, right?”

Exhaling, he looked away.

His silence did not discourage her. “The reason I am here is because I am married now, Kurt. To a wonderful husband, who now wants to start a family. And, to be quite honest, I do too. More than anything. But...I came to realize that,” she swallowed, blinking a few times, “how can I raise my own child if I haven’t even come to know my other ones?”

The memories were starting to come back about Quinn. While fiercely independent and intelligent, she also had a tendency to manipulate in order to win. She was strong-willed and didn’t take shit from anybody, but didn’t always use her powers for good.

Liam adored her, Kurt remembered that.

“At sixteen, I gave up my first child to a woman who could raise her right. Since then I have connected with my daughter, and still manage to from time to time. Then, I needed money to pay back student loans and you two were offering a fair amount so I took the job because,” Quinn shrugged a shoulder, “if you’ve done it once you can do it again, right?

“But, with our agreement, I’d never get to know Max in time. Ten more years without knowing what he’s like? What he’s grown up to be? Kurt, you don’t think I’ve forgotten about him, have you? Sometimes, I dream about him. If he looks like you, if he looks like me. If he’s talented or smart or funny. I...I need to have that connection I had with Beth and I’ll hopefully have with any of my future children. Do you understand?”

Her hands were tight in fists on her lap, and her eyes were less determined, more desperate. She was perfectly aware Kurt held the power here, considering Liam was out of the picture. The contract stated Quinn couldn’t come to contact with Max until he turned eighteen, or until Kurt allowed permission.

Oh, how he’d played this game before.

“Ms. Fabray,” he said slowly, tapping his finger against his arm. “I can see your side, and I’m sorry to say that I decline your request.”

Her red lips parted. “Excuse me?”

“Max has been through enough already. Given our situation before and now gaining a new father while just coming in contact with his old one, I don’t want him to be even more confused. He’s too young, it’s too soon.”

Her eyes were huge, her eyebrows lowering. “But I’m his _mother_.”

“No, you gave birth to him. You didn’t raise him or nurture him or had any role other than bringing him into this world. While a significant role indeed, that doesn’t automatically give you permission to fit your way back into his life _eight years later_.”

Quinn kept staring at him with appall, shocked by his words. Clearly she was not used to not getting her way. “So that’s it then? Simply because _now_ is the time I decide to make a change you say no?”

“Also because _you were never intended to be a part of his life in the first place._ ”

“He’s my son!” Quinn protested, her mouth twitching to a snarl. “I deserve to see him!”

It was too much. Her arrival, her words, and now her reaction was too similar to Liam’s. And more than anything Kurt intended to not have his past repeat itself. He stood from his chair, towering above her and refusing to break eye contact.

“Ms. Fabray,” he said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Mouth hanging open, she shook her head up at him and gathering her purse, her own glare unwavering. He waited for her to leave the room first before following, shutting the door behind.

Leading her out was a walk of silence, neither of them letting their guard down. Kurt opened the front door for her as well, stepping back to let her go by.

She waited a moment, however, her lips pressed together and her shoulders square. She took a step towards Kurt, her gaze hard and her voice quiet when she spoke, “I am not one to give up so easily.”

“Neither am I.” He nodded at the opened door. “Goodbye, Quinn.”

A corner of her mouth curled. “Just because you _think_ you have the perfect life for you and Max now, doesn’t mean it’s true.” She lifted her head up, tossing her bangs out of her face. “Good day to you too, Kurt.”

Just as she strode to her vehicle, another just pulled into the driveway. Santana and Brittany stepped out of their car, watching Quinn walk away curiously as they approached Kurt.

"Who the hell was that?” Santana asked Kurt. “Did you tell her you didn’t want to hear about our lord and savior Jesus?”

Kurt sighed. “It was nothing.”

Santana shrugged and went on inside, calling for their daughter in Spanish. Brittany, however, stayed for a moment as Kurt closed the door, and she smiled at him and said, “Don’t let the Muggles bring you down.”

He managed a smile. “Will do, Britt.”

“Seriously, they are meaningless to your magic.” And with that, she took his hand and led him through the house, skipping a bit on the way.

And oh, how he wished it were that easy. He’d give anything for the power to make all those hardships charging his way with a simple flick of a wand, only leaving a toad or sparkling dust in its wake.

* * *

With how the routine worked, Harold would drive both Blaine and Max into the big city, first dropping Max off at his school then Blaine at work. Usually, these trips involved Max rambling to the both of them, informing Harold about the events this morning, such as what he ate for breakfast, or what would happen at school that day, such as plans for recess.

Yet today Max was quiet as a statue, completely absorbed in his Harry Potter book. He was slouched in his seat, the seat belt bent against his neck and his backpack squished behind him. To Blaine’s surprise, Max zoomed through the book rather quickly, now more than halfway done.

“What’s happening, kid?” Blaine asked after checking his watch. “Any exciting stuff in there?”

Max nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Who’s your favorite character so far?”

It took Max a moment to actually answer, his eyes never leaving the page. “Um...I like Ron. He’s funny.”

Blaine smiled to himself before catching Harold chuckling in the driver’s seat. This completely different shift with Max was amusing, that they could agree. Who knew a battered old book would leave Max silent for hours at a time?

The car pulled up to the school, and Blaine could see children filing about once saying goodbye to their parents. He had to nudge Max’s arm, telling him, “It’s your stop.”

Again, it took Max a second to finish reading the sentence before actually shuffling to gather his things and open the door. He waved goodbye to Blaine first and then to Harold before darting off, forgetting to close the door in his departure.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine leaned over and reached to shut it himself, glancing up just in time to see his son hurry up to a group of other third graders. Most of them Blaine recognized, such as Max’s best friend Jack, but there was one particular Max was jabbering excitedly to, pointing at his book and grinning widely.

Max was talking to a girl.

“Shall we go, Mr. Anderson-Hummel?”

“No--wait a sec, Harold,” Blaine said, frozen in his awkward lean-in from closing the door. The curiosity was too strong to ignore, because the possibility that this girl was _the_ girl…

She was a petite little thing, with big brown eyes and the curliest hair tied up in two puffy buns. Her shoes were light-up Disney princess sneakers, and her shirt had a bright pattern of pink butterflies. Her skin was dark, her backpack was purple, and she listened to Max chatter on a million miles an hour, smiling at the book and nodding along.

And for Max’s sake, Blaine could see why his eight-year-old was blushing pink at the ears.

Slowly returning back to his proper sitting position, Blaine blew out a long breath, faintly hearing the school bell ring and all the children hurry inside, Max continuing to talk to the girl. So their little rambunctious son was truly growing up. Still true to himself, still figuring out how to fit in an evolving skin.

“Ready, sir?”

Sighing, Blaine nodded. “As I’ll ever be, Harold.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Blaine considered texting his husband the news of this love interest. But no, he decided, not now. Kurt had been through so much stress lately, first with the incident with Sebastian Smythe then the random visitor to their home the other day. Not to mention Kurt had always been a bit wary on Max’s growing up, and this news wouldn’t exactly bring him comfort or joy. So he slid his phone away and gazed out the window, lost in the city landscape and passing buildings.

Work was usual, the absence of his father bringing a sense of a desperation to keep everything organized. Passing employees gave Blaine their best wishes for Robert’s health after meetings or passing in the hallway. It was strange, in a sense. Blaine’s father was just on a temporary sick leave, it’s not like it was anything serious.

Still, Blaine had been given most of Robert’s responsibilities. Considering he was the “heir to the company” as the managers and staff kept reminding him. But Robert’s empire was something Blaine hardly could keep up with, never mind actually controlling. At least he could remind himself this was only temporary. If Blaine’s father was anything, it was persistent. No meaningless medical drawback could stop him.

In his own office, Blaine reclined back in his chair, feet up on the desk and his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open as he reluctantly listened his brother drone on and on about budget changes over in Los Angeles. Blaine really tried to remain interested, he did, but the numbers started to swirl together and frankly his brain had gathered an overload of information today already--

“Squirt, did you hear that?”

Blaine jumped in his chair, kicking his feet off the desk and bolting upright, almost spilling his coffee. “Um--yep! Clear as day!”

“So do you agree we should?”

“Um...uh...I guess?”

“Blaine.”

“Mhmm?”

“Repeat what I just asked you.”

He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to groan. “Well...you...asked about money.”

Cooper sighed. “No, Blaine. No I did not.”

Just then, one of the interns poked his head in Blaine’s office, waving his hand frantically. Blaine waved him off in a more annoyed manner and went back to Cooper, “Hey, I’m sorry I had a lot going on today that I can’t focus on whatever the hell you want to spend next.”

“Improvements, Blaine. _Expansions_. That’s maybe a _little_ bit important right now--”

“Um, Mr. Anderson-Hummel, sir?”

Though Blaine never remembered how many there were, he was one good with faces, so he whisper-shouted at the fidgety young man, “Not now, Gavin.”

“But--um, sir--”

“Blaine, I know a lot is on your plate at the moment, but I really need you right now--”

“It’s your mother, sir, she…”

For some reason, Gavin had this look of fear across his young, pimply face. Or perhaps anxiety? Either way, that boy was going to faint if Blaine didn’t respond to him.

So Blaine got a good grip on the phone, putting on a game face despite the fact Cooper couldn’t see. “I’m here, Coop. One hundred and ten percent. But now is not a good time so we’ll chat later, yeah?”

“ _Excuse me--?!_ ”

Blaine hung up midway in that sentence, letting out a long awaited exhale, rubbing a hand across his face before standing, smiling gently at the intern. “My apologies, Gavin. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”

The intern gulped, glancing off to the side, his face too white to be considered normal. Surely, Blaine wasn’t too intimidating. He tried to give a gentler appeal to his coworkers, especially the hesitant interns.

Gavin bit his lip before saying, “Y-your mother, Mrs. Anderson, called for your office and...it’s Robert Anderson, sir. He’s in the hospital and--he needs to see you.”

Blaine frowned, a horrible feeling expanding in his gut. “What for?”

“It’s...Mrs. Anderson was crying on the other line and--it’s not looking well for him, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt was never a fan of hospitals.

It was a hospital where he last saw his mother, her head shaven and her face showing too much bone as she smiled weakly at Kurt for the last time. It was a hospital where he found himself waking up in his sophomore year of college, body aching and bruised with the result of a gay bashing earlier that night. It was a hospital where he thought he would lose Max after a silly playground accident.

And now it was a hospital where Kurt sat on a stiff blue chair, holding Max’s hand tightly in his own. The hallway was eerily quiet, only the faint sounds of nurses’ shoes scuffing the floor. They were the only ones there at the moment, enclosed in the quiet by no choice other than their own.

Max hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even moved since they arrived. His feet swayed about an inch above the ground, one of his shoelaces undone and scraping the floor. His eyes kept down there too as he numbly held on to his father’s hand, not daring to make a sound.

And Kurt--well, he had time to think. Ever since the phone call his chest hadn’t settled right, his heart unable to keep a sound rhythm. He told himself not to be rash, not to overthink. His own father had scares before back when Kurt was in high school, and Kurt found himself sobbing at his father’s bedside even though nothing was certain yet. Though here he is today, safe and healthy. Robert could be the same.

Blaine was in the room now, talking to him. About what, Kurt didn’t know. In the meantime, Pam was outside, handling the reporters. Apparently even on the brink of death people still wanted to shove their nose in other people’s business.

Kurt clamped his jaw and squeezed Max’s hand. _No, don’t think that. Not yet, remember?_

The door ahead of them clicked, and Kurt snapped his eyes up to see Blaine emerge out of it, head down and body moving strange, almost robotic. Kurt stood, gripping to Max’s hand still, and opened his mouth just as his husband said, “He wants to talk to Max now. And you.”

Voice raspy, eyes red, this wasn’t a good sign. Max got up, walking carefully to the opened door, extending Kurt’s arm with him. Before he followed, Kurt put a hand on Blaine’s arm, trying to meet his eyes. “You okay?”

As an answer, Blaine said, “I’m going to find my mom. Cooper should be coming soon, anyway.”

Granted, the hospital room itself looked almost too normal, too medical for someone like the famous Robert Anderson. With a white floor, white walls, and a window with the ugliest curtains Kurt had ever laid eyes on, altogether it was rather ordinary. A bed sat in the center, with beeping machines surrounding it.

“Hey there, sport,” said Robert.

The greeting was obviously for Max, and Kurt stepped back as his son walked forward, a bit hesitant on the situation. Robert was smiling as Max approached his bedside, despite the fact he looked very unlike the Robert Anderson everyone knew. Pale, weak, with wires and tubes strapped to him, managing his heartbeat.

Which, with little medical knowledge Kurt had, wasn’t sounding good.

When Robert began speaking to Max, Kurt suddenly felt like he was intruding. He awkwardly crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes, distracting himself and trying not to eavesdrop on the soft-spoken words.

“You promise me that?” he heard Robert say.

“U-huh,” Max replied.

A shift of fabric and Kurt dared to glance up. With whatever strength he had left, Robert lifted an arm up and touched Max’s cheek, his eyes watering when he said, “I love you so much, don’t ever forget that.”

With Max’s sharp inhale, Kurt did come forward, putting an arm around his son’s shoulders just as Robert began coughing--or more like heaving. A machine sounded off and suddenly the door burst open. Nurses in scrubs all hurried inside.

Max was stiff as a board, so Kurt rubbed his back soothingly, unsure what else to do. “How about you go out and see if your uncle Cooper is here?” Kurt offered to Max. His son nodded, eyes lingering on Robert, before turning to leave.

Robert, in the meantime, had waved a nurse away to say, “One moment, I still have something to say to my son-in-law.”

Kurt snapped his eyes up. Blaine’s father had turned his head at him, swallowing and setting his mouth in a determined fashion. No illness was going to take that away from Robert, so it seemed.

“Kurt,” he said, “I know you love my son very much.”

He nodded, crossing his arms again. “That I do.”

“So I know you’ll continue to take care of him.”

His throat tightened. “Robert, don’t say that…”

“Come now, the kid is gone so we might as well speak some honesty.” The older man chuckled until it became too much. Another nurse offered help when his coughing got intense, but again he brushed her away. “It’s important, Kurt, that you do. He’s...he’s better when he’s with you. And with what will come he’ll...need you.”

Kurt blinked and looked away. He had no need to break down into tears, not yet. His chest felt too hollow, though. Too empty with the truth.

“Is there any chance?” he asked.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

They remained in silence as Kurt sunk that in. The nurses kept shuffling around, talking amongst themselves, and the machines continued beeping, tracking Robert’s heartbeat.

Robert, who took in a breath before saying, “You’re a better man than I’ll ever be, Kurt.”

* * *

It rained that day, as if even the Earth knew the circumstances as well.

Thousands of people came, and Kurt didn’t even know if half of them were there because they knew Robert personally or just knew how much power he had possessed. Photographers were there, too, ducking under their umbrellas and protecting their cameras the best they could.

Honestly, he barely paid attention to them.

His job, right now, was to sit between Blaine and Max and hold their hands firmly. The family and close friends were seated under a tent during the ceremony as an officiate read near the coffin. His voice could barely be heard above the downpour, but his words were sincere.

_Great man...unlike any other...will be missed dearly…_

Pam sat to between her two sons, a pile of crumpled tissues on her lap as she was unable to stop crying. All the cameras were aimed at her, Kurt knew that. Blaine did his best to comfort her, though he himself had not shed a tear since the ceremony began. It concerned Kurt, considering Blaine was so open with his feelings yet with this his reactions were unreadable as stone, but it’s not like Kurt would ask aloud.

Max also was not crying, but Kurt could at least understand that. Ever since the...announcement, Max simply remained silent. His once chatterbox boy never once opened his mouth. Right now he sat almost hunched in his chair, staring ahead blankly and breathing very slowly, his grip a bit loose in Kurt’s hand.

Kurt worried, but he didn’t ask.

The reception afterwards took place indoors, in a lovely and elegant banquet hall. People in appropriately dark clothing mingled about with the appetizers given, sharing stories about Robert or the company. Thankfully, no paparazzi were allowed inside. Once less thing to worry about.

Max had disappeared off with his cousins, Madeline and Sophie, who also looked like they didn’t know what to think about the entire thing. They were all children, all far too young and innocent to feel the impact yet. Kurt couldn’t blame them.

With a beverage in one hand, Kurt talked with Victoria--Cooper’s wife. Wearing a black gown and mascara that must’ve smeared at one point, she mostly went on about the day Cooper first introduced her to his parents and how nerve-wracking it was. And Kurt listened, but he felt distant. Not entirely in the present. That hollow feeling in his chest hadn’t vanished, either.

Blaine and Cooper had stepped aside, not talking about their father but more so business. Kurt saw it in the way Blaine frowned, how his forehead wrinkled, and how he stared up at Cooper with lowered eyebrows. He heard Blaine say through the noise of constant chatter, “Do we really need to talk about this now, Coop?!”

Sometime later Kurt managed to pull his husband aside, asking him gently, “Are you okay?”

Blaine nodded down at his drink, but said nothing.

However, that moment between the two of them was lost when another figure arrived up to them, causing them both to turn and for Kurt to widen his eyes in anger just as the man started saying, “Blaine, Kurt, I am so--”

“Really, Sebastian?! Can you never leave us alone--?”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, sounding drained.

Indeed, it was Sebastian Smythe, wearing a black suit much like every other man. His expression was soft, unlike any smirk or conniving face he bore before. “I am just here to offer my sympathies,” he said.

Blaine nodded again, a motion he was accustomed to nowadays. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

“I know this loss is...devastating. Not only to the company but to your family,” Sebastian went on. “Robert was a marvelous man. I knew that, my father knows that. From my business to yours, I wish you the best of luck in the future.”

Blaine set his mouth and thanked him again.

Once he departed, Kurt let his shoulders relax and surprisingly didn’t feel a boil of rage in his gut like he usually did with every other encounter. “Well he was...civil.”

“It’s a funeral, Kurt,” Blaine said. “What did you expect?”

His tone made Kurt turn to him with drawn eyebrows. Blaine sounded sharp, annoyed. Tired. Kurt tried to meet his eyes when he asked, “Honey, _are_ you okay?”

Blaine closed his eyes and exhaled. “I’m just...I’m going to use the restroom quick.” And he was gone.

A death in a family was never easy. Kurt knew that, so one would think he’d be more prepared, more experienced with this sort of thing. But honestly, there was no level of expertise in that great of shock, that massive of a loss. Kurt couldn’t do anything about the inevitable silence which grew between people, which filled up the home.

Even the pets seemed to know something wasn’t right. Lacy didn’t come bounding up to them when they arrived through the front door. Aurora stayed curled up in her bed, watching the three of them with so much but a flick of her orange tail.

It was strange getting ready for bed without any noise. Blaine went in the shower without any sort of announcement. Max disappeared off into his bedroom without looking back. Kurt had no other choice than to take care of himself, changing out of his formal tux into comfier clothing, then distracting himself with other bedtime routines.

Instinct told him to say something, but hesitation kept him away from breaking the established silence.

On the way back from loading the dishwasher, Kurt passed Max’s open-doored room, and he heard his son call out, “Dad?”

Kurt poked his head in almost too fast. “Yes? What is it?”

His son sat on the edge of his bed, changed into his plaid pajamas and biting his lip. He looked nervous, sliding his hands between his knees and hunching his shoulders when he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Kurt entered the bedroom, carefully treading on this opportunity. With Max barely speaking a word all day, he didn’t want to stop it now. “Sure, honey, anything.”

Max’s room was significantly larger than the old apartment’s, even the penthouse’s. It included plenty of space for a desk and bookshelves, not to mention toys and clothes which scattered the carpet. Posters hung up on his walls of the Avengers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. His bed was bigger than any eight year old could need, but the sheets were Captain America-themed.

He squatted in front of the boy, watching him as he chewed his lip some more, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “I was just wondering…” Max began slowly. “Wh--what happens after people die?”

Oh. Another ‘Big Question.’ Kurt was taken aback to the point where he opened his mouth but did not say anything. When you sign up for parenting, you’re never quite prepared to answer such questions to someone with such fragile innocence.

And especially with a subject this grand and profound. Kurt was treading on very thin ice, and he knew Max would take anything he said to heart. He was his father, after all.

Kurt said his words very carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” Max replied, “Sophie said Grandpa was going to Heaven now. And that Heaven is where good people go when they die. And--and is that true? Or was she lying?”

_Another_ topic Kurt hadn’t dwelled on with Max. The idea of religion never settled well with Kurt, given the bigoted ignorance and treatment towards people like him. Why, he declared himself a non-believer when he was a teenager. He never bothered to teach Max anything to do with God or stuff of that nature. Max hadn’t even stepped foot in a church during his years on earth.

Was this bad? Kurt never thought so. Sure, his mother had been somewhat religious, as in they attended church every Easter morning and some Sundays in between. His father attempted to keep the traditions after her death, but he was never as dedicated. He respected Kurt’s beliefs, and Kurt simply never forced any upon his son.

But with that statement, Kurt couldn’t just outright say, “ _Yeah, Max. Heaven is a concept humans made up to make themselves feel better about the inevitability of death. In reality, probably nothing happens after we die. Just infinite nothingness. Sorry bout it, champ_.” God, no, he couldn’t say that.

So instead, he took a breath and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Max blinked, now surprised with the choice placed upon him. It was probably Kurt’s favorite thing, watching the clogs work inside Max’s head. Nothing was more fascinating than watching such a young mind figure things out on his own.

“Well,” Max finally said, “I bet Grandpa’s just gonna dream forever. Like, maybe that happens after people die? They close their eyes and keep having nice dreams. Maybe of all the nice stuff here, like of big lakes and football. Am I right?”

A hard lump formed in Kurt’s throat, and he had to force himself not to start crying. Oh, who knows if Max is right or not? His theory is just as sound as anyone’s, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful.

“It is if you believe so, Maxie.”

A bit disappointed in not knowing if his idea was correct, Max twisted his mouth and looked down at his hands, wringing them together. Soon, his chin trembled, then he said in a small, broken voice, “I don’t want you to die, Daddy.”

Kurt had him wrapped in his arms before Max released his first droplet of tears. He held him tight and rubbed his back, pressing kisses to his forehead and shushing him gently as Max cried and cried into his shirt while trembling like a leaf.

“I’m right here, Max,” Kurt said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He gathered tissues from the nightstand and wiped Max’s cheeks clean, letting him blow his nose as he calmed down. A death in the family was never easy, Kurt knew this. Why, he was around Max’s age when his mother passed. He remembered him and Burt in a similar situation, with Burt rubbing his back as a young Kurt sobbed into his chest late at night.

But crying always ended in exhaustion, and Max’s eyes were drooping soon enough. Kurt tucked him under the covers, brushing his hair aside to kiss his forehead. “It’ll be okay,” Kurt told him.

Max nodded, clutching his stuffed Dalmatian close.

“I know you’ll be strong,” Kurt said, then glanced at the bedsheets, “Just like Captain America.”

Max grinned for the first time in days. “He’s _really_ strong.”

“Yes, and so are you.” And with one more kiss, Kurt turned off the lights saying, “Goodnight, I love you.”

“I love you, too!” Max whisper-shouted in the dark.

The shower had stopped when Kurt entered his own bedroom, and he saw his husband tugging a pajama shirt over his head, his back facing Kurt. In that teetering zone of should-he or shouldn’t-he speak, Kurt hovered near the doorway until he finally decided to go over to the bed, hopefully meeting Blaine on the way.

“You gonna set your alarm?” Blaine asked him in a really awkward, trying-too-hard-to-be-casual voice, his eyes down as he pulled the duvet back.

Kurt mirrored him, watching him carefully. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Blaine nodded stiffly, refusing to look up. “Good.”

It was too strange, too very non-Blaine that Kurt couldn’t help but keep staring at him as he too settled under the covers, watching as his husband reached over and flicked his bedside lamp off, now only allowing Kurt’s to illuminate the room.

Blaine got comfortable with his back facing Kurt, not even offering a simple ‘goodnight.’

Finally, Kurt had enough. He pursed his lips and turned his head around the room quickly before saying rather loudly, just to make sure his husband could hear, “Are you okay?”

“What?” Blaine barely looked over his shoulder. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just tired and I need to wake up early so could you please turn off your light?”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt touched his arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sweetheart, I’m _fine_.”

“You are the world’s worst liar,” Kurt attempted to roll him over, far beyond irritated and confused to stop now. “C’mon, this isn’t you.”

“What do you mean?!” At least it got Blaine to turn around, sitting up to scowl at him properly. “Can I not _talk_ without--”

“ _No_ , I never said that--”

“Well then why won’t you trust me when I _say--?!_ ”

“Because no one is perfectly fine when their father just died!”

His shout deafened the room into an abrupt silence. Seeing Blaine’s face covered in pure shock, eyes wide and thick eyebrows going up, Kurt almost regretted his words. Almost.

Someone needed to give. Blaine was the one to show grand expressions from every scale. He wore his heart out on his sleeve, he would shout his joy across the Manhattan skyline. His face was an opened book, Kurt knew that from the start.

This…this wasn’t the Blaine he knew.

“You haven’t said a thing,” Kurt told him, his voice now soft, “since the announcement. You haven’t...talked to me or, given me any indication how you’re feeling. Every night you’re at your mother’s or up late making arrangements.” He sat up on his knees, leaning in more to him. “Blaine, you didn’t show _any_ emotions at the service today. I just, I don’t understand, is there something you’re not telling me?”

_Was it something I said or did? Blaine, we’re through this thick and thin, better or worse, in sickness and health…_

Blaine inhaled through his nose and held it, looking off to the side with stiff shoulders and a hard jaw. He looked as if he very much wanted to shout or storm off, but instead he remained extremely tense, bottling everything up.

He exhaled. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t...I just can’t, Kurt!” Blaine’s head snapped at him, his hands balled in his lap. “I’m...it’s not fair, it’s not--respectful to, t-to him--”

“Baby, what are you talking about?”

“ _I don’t deserve to be sad!_ ” Blaine yelled this time, so loud Kurt feared their son would wake from it. But his husband was visibly trembling now, his face scrunching around the eyes and chin. “I don’t…” Voice barely above a whisper, he squeezed his fists tighter, dropping his shoulders. “I don’t deserve to grieve…”

The walls were breaking, exploding open. Kurt didn’t dare to move. Blaine swallowed, sighing, hunching to become smaller as his eyes shut tight. “I--I was mad at him for _years_...”

With Blaine’s voice cracking, so quiet now Kurt almost didn’t hear it, he hurried quickly much like how he did for Max, gathering Blaine in his arms as his husband wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It’s okay…”

“No, it’s _not_.”

While Blaine was so open with emotions, they were never this _raw_ with sorrow, this deep in grief. Kurt had never seen him so wounded, and how he had shut it away so tight. But he was right, it wasn’t okay. That white lie brought no comfort when the truth hung in the air like a thunder cloud.

So Kurt held him as he let the last of the walls tumble and fall. He stroked his freshly showered hair and rubbed his thumb in circles at his spine as Blaine first cried then _wailed_ into his shirt, clinging on to Kurt like a lifesaver and hiding his face away from the world.

“I’m so stupid, I’m so fucking _stupid--_ ”

“Shh, no you’re not.”

“We were just s-starting to l-l-love each other again--”

“Shh…”

“He’ll never see Max g-graduate or...get married…”

“I know.”

“He’ll never--fuck, why is he _gone_ , why is he--?”

Blaine interrupted himself with a choked-off sob and used this opportunity to catch his breath and loosen his grip on Kurt’s shirt.

Kurt swallowed harshly, feeling the familiar prickle of tears form behind his own eyes. Heartbreak was never an emotion one could adapt to. “It’s okay,” he told Blaine, “to feel sad.”

His husband buried his face more into the soaked fabric, pacing his breathing and becoming limp in Kurt’s arms. “I can’t remember the last time I told him I loved him,” he confessed softly.

With that, they remained in silence. Kurt felt wet stripes fall along his cheeks but he didn’t say a thing. The loss was permanent, absolute. He couldn’t figure out a way to reverse this and make Blaine suddenly happy again. No, this was final and out of their control. They had to learn to piece their hearts back together and learn to live on.

Oh, and Blaine...he’s the heir to the company. He’ll have to take Robert’s place in New York. Is he prepared? Can he fill in those shoes now? Kurt kissed his temple and rubbed his back faster, the future too daunting to worry about now.

They’ll figure it out. They’re a team. Just as they recited while rings were slipped onto their fingers, _for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, until death do us part…_


	6. Chapter 6

Third graders were  _nothing_ like kindergartners. Yes, there were none yelling over who took whose building blocks, nor were any spilling finger paint over the floor. However, third graders were older, therefore a tad more mature. And significantly enthusiastic. 

Max was hurrying to put his jacket and backpack on his specific hanger, so Kurt stood at the doorway with the pan of brownies, checking his phone quick for the time. Usually, Blaine dropped their son off in the morning, however Kurt’s appointments started later that day, meaning he could squeeze time to help bring the treats for the elementary school’s bake sale.

Max’s teacher, Miss Werner--a rather frazzled and insanely thin woman--was occupied explaining to a group of girls that they could not change the schedule so music class came first, no matter how desperate they wanted to sing. Kurt smiled to himself. Oh, the ambition of eight-year-olds.

Hair rumpled and shirt askew, Max came rushing back to him, holding up two hands.

Kurt paused to hand the brownies over. “Promise you won’t eat them all?”

“ _Duh_ , I won’t! Dad, I’d puke.”

“That’s a nice image.”

“Max! You brought brownies too!” said a girl who wasn’t part of the music class revolution. She smiled wide when she hurried up to them. Her shirt had a bedazzled dolphin on it and her hair was the curliest mane on such a little figure. “My momma made some and they have sprinkles on the frosting and they’re _so good!_ ”

Shockingly, Max didn’t say a word back. He stared at her with a rigid spine and round eyes, nodding until she skipped away to her friends. Kurt said not a word either, but he did squint an eye suspiciously, glancing at the girl then back at Max then back at the girl and finally, back to Max.

“Who was that, Maxie?” he asked casually.

His son jumped, as if spooked that Kurt was still there, but quickly brushed that off with a shrug and a, “Nothing.” Kurt didn’t even have time to point out that made no sense for Max yanked the pan out of his hands and then left.

Remaining at the doorway, Kurt crossed his arms and watched his son. That was odd behavior coming from a boy who loved to talk and was no longer shy of children his age. Why right now Max’s ‘totally-going-to-be-a-jock-when-he’s-sixteen’ friend Jack was talking to him, animatedly discussing their plans for recess. Max nodded and grinned, miming around with his hands before making an exploding noise, then they both burst out laughing.

So if that wasn’t the issue ( _oh no,_ Kurt thought) then there had to be one answer.

That little Disney-sneakered, brown-eyed girl was Max’s crush.

 _‘Crush’_ a word which shouldn’t be used lightly. Children at that age simply picked a random suitor and claimed they were boyfriend/girlfriend before they even knew what dating meant. Kurt remembered all the way back in Max’s kindergarten days when he explained kids who were ‘dating’ in his class. It meant nothing, just a mimicking of what grown-ups did.

Still...a strange hollow feeling entered Kurt’s bones. This was still an example of how time kept flying by…

Miss Werner, now finished with the music girls, pushed hair out of her face and clapped her hands for the class to settle down as she walked over to Kurt. “Ah, Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” she said, smiling tiredly. Only eight in the morning and the poor teacher looked like she already had a rough day. “May I help you with anything?”

He blinked out of his own thoughts, putting on a more enthusiastic smile before shaking his head. “Oh, no thanks.” He then tapped his watch that wasn’t actually there. “Gotta head to work.”

Well, coffee first. At none other than the Spotlight Diner. (Which is _Blaine’s_ favorite place to get coffee--Kurt supposed that’s what being married does to you). The bell chimed when he opened the door. Early morning, not too busy. It’s just how Kurt remembered, and thankfully without him in one of those waiter uniforms.

A few workers who recognized him waved and he greeted them in return. Heading towards the bar near the back, he spotted exactly who he was looking for. Red uniform, white apron, and hair up in a ponytail, Santana yawned as she wiped the counter top clean, not even caring this early in the morning if she had a double chin.

“Morning, stranger,” Kurt said happily.

“ _Ugh_ ,” she replied, stopping her rag to glare. “Why are you here? You’re free. Master has given you a sock. _Leave_.”

“One medium coffee please.”

“Fine.”

He stood to wait, watching as she strode over to the coffee machine. Poor thing, last of the Spotlight trio to still be here. Santana was the one to both introduce Kurt and Rachel to the job, and now they’ve gone off to bigger and better things. Something Santana claimed she wanted too.

“Santana?” he asked. “If you hate it so much, why don’t you quit?”

She scoffed, popping the lid onto Kurt’s cup. “There’s a thing called paying rent and buying baby clothes.”

“Still…”

“That will be three-fifty.”

Kurt dug out his wallet. “How are those commercials coming along?”

That made her smile a bit. “Pretty good. I just filmed one about this product that prevents yeast infection.”

He almost dropped his quarters. “Oh--oh my god.”

“Yeah, don’t show Max that one.” A beat, and then she shrugged. “It’s not so bad here anyway. Ronny’s still pissed about his divorce so he’s basically attacking every _male_ worker who’s married and,” she pointed two thumbs at herself, “guess who doesn't fall into _that_ category?”

Kurt laughed. “Charming.” He slid her the money.

“Besides,” she punched the proper buttons on the cash register, “someone’s got to keep this place interesting while Berry is off singing about death or love or whatever and you’re making suits for gay billionaires.”

“Alright, only _one_ so far has been gay,” he pointed out, “and...ugh, his appointment is today.”

Intrigued, she paused her actions to raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s so wrong about him?”

Kurt refrained from rolling his eyes. “He’s...the _exact_ definition of a human scumbag. His name is Sebastian Smythe and he’s so _obnoxious_ and not to mention he keeps flirting with me despite knowing that I’m--”

He stopped, only because Santana was obviously trying not to snort.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just--god, this is so ironic. Remember before you met Mr. Dreams-Come-True-Anderson and like, you hooked up with those wanna-be’s? Like that delivery guy, then that hunk from the club, and then the weird one from online…” His glare made her move on. “Anyway, suddenly you’re married to Uptown Boy and now _another_ rich guy is after you!”

“Santana, he’s not _seriously_ after me,” Kurt said, grabbing his coffee. “A long time ago he had a fling with Blaine and now I’m Blaine’s husband so that’s why. End of story.”

“Or,” she went on, “he _seriously_ wants to get in your pants. I mean, you’ve got it all now, right? Nice body, cute kid, decent job, a _ridiculous_ bank account--”

“Santana, I’m leaving.”

“Your life is like a telenovela now, Kurt!” she yelled after him. “I can’t help but be addicted!”

At least at the tailor shop he didn’t have to deal with nosy friends. Kurt hung up his coat and tossed his empty cup in the trash bin, still irritated by Santana’s need to annoy him whenever she had the chance. Jasmine was calling something to him, but he hardly comprehended any sane words at the moment.

His area in the back was at least a beacon of relief. Just his sewing supplies, a variety of fabrics, and that large three-panel mirror to keep him grounded. Dozens of textiles displayed, sketches pinned up on the wall, and his sewing machine on a small table also made home there thanks to him. Kurt let out a breath, his frustration channeling into passion for a job he loved.

In fact, the second his head was finally back in the game a voice startled him back to reality. “My, my, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Sebastian came out from behind a rack of furs, hands in his pockets and smiling in such a faux-genuine way Kurt immediately glowered on the spot. He stiffened his spine and replied, “Mr. Smythe, let’s get this over with.”

“That’s no way to speak to such a valued customer,” Sebastian tried to joke, however Kurt marched over to his area without a word.

Squatting down to gather his notebook and measuring tape, Kurt heard Sebastian step up to the small platform in front of the mirrors. Surprisingly, Sebastian was not jabbering on about god-knows-what with his father’s business or his current achievements with Mr. Winslow. No, Sebastian was being oddly silent, which could mean--

Kurt frowned at nothing before spinning around and catching Sebastian lift his eyes up a second too late.

God, this was stupid.

He huffed and glanced at his opened notes. “So, a classic black tux? Any preferences on the tie?”

“A neck tie would be fine,” he replied, then biting his lip as he slid his hands in his pockets again, giving Kurt that _look_ which meant he was about to say one of two things: _You of all people can manage that, right?_ or _Your ass looks amazing, by the way_.

And Kurt frankly was not in the mood for either at the moment, so just as Sebastian parted his lips he snapped, “Explain to me why you keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

_Objectifying me at work! Flirting with me in front of my husband! Jesus Christ, to think not a month ago you were actually somewhat human at Robert’s funeral._

“You know _what_ ,” he said, flipping a page of his notebook rather harshly. “Whatever blatantly obvious plan you have conjuring up in that peanut-sized brain of yours, it’s outright _annoying_. In case if you have forgotten, Blaine’s married to me now, whatever you’re doing is not--”

“How many times must I say, _Blaine_ isn’t who I’m after in this picture, Kurt.”

“How many times must _I_ make clear,” Kurt hissed back, keeping his voice down as not to attract other early customers, “that I am notinterested in leaving him any time soon! So if you don’t mind just backing off and keeping our relationship professional--”

“Yes, I’m sure he must be the perfect husband,” Sebastian wondered out loud, cocking his head a bit. “Although, why would he bother to still wear protection?”

The statement was so unexpected Kurt dropped his poise. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. Apparently it was the reaction Sebastian was looking for, because he grinned wickedly, saying without words, _gotcha_.

 _No_. Kurt’s hold on his notebook was shaking. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smythe,” he cleared his throat, voice monotonous, “but we need to reschedule our appointment.”  

Sebastian held out his palms, still smiling. “I’m all yours, darling.”

Soon after, he told Jasmine he felt sick and needed to go home. His boss pouted her purple lips and felt his forehead like a concerned mother, but perhaps his face was green enough that she let him go.

Home. Where everything felt too big and hollow. Max at school and Blaine at work, Kurt simply stood numb at the door, staring at the large living room and tall staircase and unable to process it all.

The perfect husband, the perfect life. Kurt’s wanted this since he understood what dreams meant. But it was true, he did feel sick. His stomach twisted at the fact of Sebastian sweeping in and pointing out weeds in his beautiful garden. And Kurt, who was so afraid of losing his happiness again that the thought of those weeds being _all_ that he saw _petrified_ him.

He wanted a hug. He wanted to be alone. He never wanted to see Sebastian Smythe again.

* * *

Sunlight barely peeked over the horizon at this hour, just letting its yellow glow between the curtains. Their alarms wouldn’t go off for another hour, which was a wonder why Kurt was slowly coming awake now. However, the hand sliding under his shirt and over his abdomen might give some explanation.

He opened his eyes, facing outward from the bed while under covers warm from housing body heat throughout the night. Though that was not the only thing warm against him. After slight shuffling, a solid form pressed to his back, and the arm shifted more comfortably as the hand splayed against his skin.

With his body snug right against Kurt’s, Blaine nosed the back of his neck and hummed, settling and sighing.

Kurt dared not to move, although he desperately wanted to. Not away, but closer. Although the thing was it’s been...awhile. Since they’ve been intimate. Given the whole shift in their lives and Blaine grieving, it was never brought up. In fact, this may be the longest time they’ve gone without _anything_. Besides, what are the chances Blaine was doing this all in his sleep? Kurt was not one unfamiliar with that little quirk.

Yet, Blaine’s hand flexed, then his thumb began rubbing in small, delicate circles while he exhaled on the back of Kurt’s neck, definitely very much awake.

Letting out a breathy laugh, Kurt remained how he was but smiled a bit. “Good morning,” he said softly.

Blaine hummed again, his fingertips skimming up Kurt’s chest before down to the hair under his belly button. His lips ghosted across the nape of Kurt’s neck before deciding to stay at a particular spot next to his ear.

As Blaine’s hand not-so-subtly teased at the waistband of his pajama pants, Kurt’s smile grew, and he stretched a bit to fit their bodies closer. “Hm, you have any plans this morning?”

He felt his husband grin before whispering, “Perhaps.”

They’ve rarely had mornings like this anymore. Blaine’s been...busy. He technically received his father’s position and was therefore swamped with all those responsibilities. Being in charge of half of the hotel’s franchise meant early mornings and late nights. And even before all of that, mornings like this were sparse.

So Kurt savored it. The content bliss of just waking up, the incredible warmth surrounding him, the dim light entering their room. His breath hitched when fingers wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking him. Blaine hummed against his ear, close to kissing his skin now and then but not quite.

They had a big day today. Kurt should be regretting not having that extra hour of sleep, but how could he think when his brain’s turned to mush and his blood rushed to his cheeks (as well as down south). His husband seemed to be having a similar issue, given Kurt could feel it poking against his ass.

He laughed a little, tilting his face around towards Blaine. In response, Blaine lifted his up and looked down at him in his sleepy-eyes, sleepy-smile way. “Honey,” Kurt said, “I hate coming in my pants.”

Blaine laughed loudly, full of joy that had been absent for so long that Kurt didn’t even care that he broke the quiet rule. Sadly, this meant his hand momentarily left Kurt's pants, only to help him roll onto his back and slide those pants down.

After Blaine did the same, Kurt yanked him down for a proper kiss. Morning breath hadn’t been an issue since they first slept together, so Kurt took no time to cup Blaine’s neck and grip his bicep, moaning when Blaine parted his mouth and teased in his tongue. Slow and deliberate and filled with lust.

“You could fuck me,” Kurt breathed, eyes still shut from the kiss.

But he opened them when Blaine replied with a sympathetic curl of his mouth, “Sorry, love. Out of supplies.”

Normally, Kurt would understand. Normally, he would simply shrug and say it was okay. This time his heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest and he looked away from his husband’s face. He _shouldn’t_ be feeling this way but… _damn_ Sebastian Smythe, he couldn’t help it.

They had this conversation when the first started dating. Kurt had told Blaine during a night of tangled limbs that he was perfectly fine without any condoms, for he enjoyed the intimacy of no barriers. Blaine became awkward and admitted that even though he’s been tested and was clean, he still couldn’t risk it. Not when…he hadn’t been so careful in the past. And since Kurt preferred receiving, he accommodated. Less of a mess, anyway. It _hadn’t_ been a big deal, it was _fine_.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, voice gone from smooth softness to clear concern. A crease between his eyebrows appeared.

Kurt shook out of it. “Nothing.” He smiled lightly, shuffling his body to bring Blaine closer. “It’s just, I’m clearly out of my pants now, and…” He lifted his hips up to give the message.

Understanding and perfectly pleased, Blaine kissed his jaw before aligning their hard lengths, letting the sweat from built-up heat help the glide. Exhaling, Kurt shut his eyes again, basking in this paradise as his pulse sped up and pleasure rushed over his skin.

Forget rude customers. Forget busy work days and exhausted evenings. Forget any other meaningless obstacle, for all Kurt could wrap his mind around was _this_. A panting, loving man overtop him, combing his fingers through Kurt’s messy bedhead and desperately moving against him, beginning to whisper nonsense next to his ear.

It was hushed and wonderful. Kurt gripped his husband’s shirt and smiled wide.

“Love you,” Blaine was saying, grinding faster. “Love you like this.”

“Missed you,” Kurt whispered to his jaw, brain too dizzy to second guess himself.

Blaine slowed only for a second, but that was the only prominent response. He nosed at Kurt’s neck once more, responding, “Missed you, too.”

The adjustment had been relentless, but they’ve survived. Blaine’s stronger than he thinks, but Kurt knew he’d make it. Those long days had been worth it just to live in this moment now.

“God, I’m close.”

Kurt snorted softly, sneaking a hand between them. “Already?” he teased, wrapping a hand around his husband’s dick and swiping his thumb around the wet head.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m-- _ah_ \--married to such an irresistible man.”

“It _is_ your fault, you proposed to me.”

“ _You_ said yes.”

“I did say yes.”

Blaine grinned crookedly, his hips jerking off-rhythm. “I’m so happy you did.”

They stayed silent as Kurt brought him to the edge, pumping his hand just the way he knew would drive Blaine crazy. He even forgot about his own needs as he focused on Blaine, twisting and tugging until Blaine was whining in his ear, making a choked-off gasp as wet lines spurted over Kurt’s fingers.

After Blaine’s breathing steadied back to normal, he lifted his head up and smirked down at him, his face flushed pink and his hair an incredible display of curls. “Your turn,” he said, and crept a hand between their chests, grazing over Kurt’s rumpled shirt before taking his cock once again.

And honestly, Kurt had been turned on for far too long to keep it back any longer. He parted his mouth as Blaine expertly brought him over, jerking in just the right ways. His toes curls and his thighs twitched as the pleasure snuck up then snapped at once. No shouts of names of cries of ecstasy, just a silent gasp that Blaine soon kissed away.

More sunlight sliced through their curtains as the peace of morning settled once again. Kurt basked in the glow, watching his husband settle beside him, equally sweaty and sticky and tangled in his wrinkled clothing. Instead of hopping out of bed like responsible adults, they simply laid together and breathed slowly, heartbeats in sync.

No stupid worrying. No guilty concerns. Kurt smiled to himself as Blaine kissed his shoulder and he glided his fingers into those early morning curls, knowing all too well that this here was the rightest thing in the world. So for a moment, he sighed and did not fret. For that moment, he said, “I love you” as easy as breathing air.

* * *

Since his promotion to running half of one of the most profitable hotel enterprises in the world, Kurt’s husband had been flooded by every single newspaper or TV station imaginable. It was overwhelming, to say the least, but not unexpected. Which was why it shouldn’t be a shocker that every camera had been aimed at the Anderson-Hummel table.

Kurt squirmed uncomfortably, aware of his documented movements. Banquets and galas were popping up more frequently, given Blaine was the Anderson in New York to represent the hotel. However, no matter how much Kurt loved a chance to wear a new suit, these events were blurring into the definition of...dull.

Even if said banquet was hosted by none other than Mr. Winslow, who still had his flock of young men. However tonight was to celebrate those men, with elegant decorations in the swankiest ballroom Kurt had ever been in. Though he thought the need for an occasion was odd, he could not disagree with Mr. Winslow’s party techniques. Foreign wine in crystal glasses? Wide chandeliers encrusted in gold? Endless amounts of scrumptious cheesecake? Kurt couldn’t complain.

Max’s dessert of chocolate cake topped with chocolate icing swirled into chocolate roses more so ended up all over his cheeks than in his mouth. He noticed soon enough, and naturally lifted the napkin around his neck to wipe it off. Yet, the crumbs accumulated on the napkin spilled onto his nice suit, and he groaned.

“Maxie, let me help,” Kurt had to say, grabbing his own napkin to save the day. Thank god the journalists were all about the setup for the speech about to happen. God, he could only see the headlines now. _Is Robert Anderson’s Grandson Being Neglected to the Point of Destruction?_ Or, better yet, _Is Blaine Anderson-Hummel’s New Job Having Him Ignore His Son’s Health Choices?_ Jeesh, reporters would gobble up anything. He’s seen some horrid tabloids already...

Max pouted and let Kurt clean up his face, his eyes flickering away at one point to say, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, sweetie.”

“But…” He looked down and touched his royal blue necktie, “my clothes…”

“Are washable,” Kurt pointed out, swiping the last bit of frosting away.

It’s not a secret Max had been affected by Blaine’s promotion as well. Robert’s PR had a meeting with them before, and one particular woman even gave a long speech to Max about the importance of image now. Oh, Kurt wanted to _strangle_ her. Max had looked so disheartened with this information, of this lady basically telling him“ _you can’t be yourself in public anymore_.”

 _Whatever_. Max was perfectly fine on his own. Although, his hair continued to bug Kurt. After his face was spotless he tried to smooth it down where it stuck up. Max only scrunched his nose and tried to duck away, in which Kurt followed saying, “Max, stay _still_ it’s just one thing--”

“Finally!” said Blaine to Kurt’s other side, exhaling a sigh of relief as whoever he was just chatting with walked away. Grabbing his utensils, Blaine stared at his meal--yes, his _dinner_ , which had not yet been touched due to mingling guests--and grinned eagerly, about to take his first bite into the steak when--

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention!”

He, like Max, groaned and dropped his silverware on the table. Trying not to laugh, Kurt turned away from their son and rubbed his husband’s arm before offering the rest of his third slice of cheesecake. Blaine did smile, but declined.

The room quieted down as Benson Winslow took the stage, shaking a bit on his cane during the slow journey. Kurt beamed a bit out of pride, for once again Mr. Winslow wore one of his custom-made suits--again a shade of yellow, although this one also edged in sharp black. Max made a comment earlier how he looked like Bumblebee the Transformer, and Kurt couldn’t argue with that.

The elderly man took a moment in front of the mic to cough into his sleeve--his assistants were ready at a moment’s notice behind him--before placing both hands on his cane and smiling out at his guests. “Thank you,” he said, “all of you, for coming to this... _eminent_ banquet.”

Applause filled the room, and Kurt joined as well even though he wanted to roll his eyes at such a title for a dinner. Max whispered to him and Blaine, “What does _em-in-em-ent_ mean?”

“Super important,” Blaine whispered back.

Max frowned, and Kurt chuckled.

Mr. Winslow lifted a shaking hand, and everyone went silent. “If I may introduce my outstanding apprentices.” He gestured towards the left of the room. “Hunter Clarington, heir to the _Clarington Heights_ and his beautiful fiancée, Tessa.”

Applause again appeared as a young man stood with a young lady, both outrageously attractive they could have easily been models instead of entrepreneurs. Kurt craned his head, recognizing another one of his customers. He could easily categorize these businessmen given how much he hand to spend time with them. _Hunter: hot-headed, offensive, and almost never impressed._

Mr. Winslow said next, “Wes Montgomery, heir to the _Emerald Plaza_ , and his lovely girlfriend, Allison.”

_Wes: strict, logical, no fashion sense whatsoever._

“Thad Harwood, heir to the _Ivory Pier Resorts_ , along with his wonderful girlfriend, Michelle.”

_Thad: unnecessarily loud, lawfully good, distrusts the color purple._

“Sebastian Smythe, heir to _Le Paradis Rouge_ , with his special guest this evening, Quinn.”

_Seb--wait, what?!_

Kurt’s insides froze ice cold, draining any blood from his system. Everything seemed to fog like a horrible dream as he watched the infamous Sebastian Smythe rise from his seat, wearing the tuxedo Kurt had designed, with his arm crooked as to show off his plus one. The woman was blonde, and wore a ruby red gown to match as she smile close-lipped at the clapping guests.

Kurt couldn’t move.

Mr. Winslow went on, but he couldn’t grasp any words being said. Max’s blue-hazel eyes stared straight at him and his mouth moved, saying something as well. Kurt didn’t understand. A broad hand touched his arm and then smoothed across his back, and Blaine’s voice could be heard as if through miles of water. Kurt’s heart beat like a bell tolling in a chapel.

He needed to get out of there.

Clearing his throat, he awkwardly stood and pushed in his chair, waving at Blaine’s questioning face and stuttering out that he just needed to use the restroom, that was all.

The hundreds of finely dressed guests blurred together in muted colors and expensive silks, along with the white tablecloths and sparkling centerpieces. The back door leading out to the lobby was the only definite object in his vision, so Kurt made sure his feet could at least carry him there. His lungs felt stuffed, as if filled with humid smoke. Everything was too tight and unclear, he needed _out_.

At least in the equally decorative lobby he could breathe. Kurt stumbled to a marble column, leaning against it and just focusing on inhaling air then exhaling it. Inhaling then exhaling. His shoes were coming back into focus, shiny and black, as well as the reflective floor. He blinked, lifting his head.

_This wasn’t happening._

Honestly, his body was debating puking or crying or just passing out. And if he sat down, he might do all three. Nobody really paid attention to him--not the black-suited men on either side of the ballroom entrance to the receptionists at the large mahogany desks nor the rich hotel guests making their way to the elevators or spa.

Footsteps could be heard coming up behind him, and Kurt closed his eyes, preparing himself to try and explain this chaos to his husband. Instead, those footsteps walked around the column and peeked to look at him, a smirk aimed his way. “How are you feeling, Kurt?”

Out of fight, Kurt jolted backwards, the sight of Sebastian holding a glass of water exactly what he did not need. Breathing heavily, Kurt stared at him, comprehending the man and the smirk and the water and remembering _why--_

“How fucking dare you,” Kurt hissed at him.

Sebastian raised his eyes. “Pardon?”

“You--you’re an absolute _monster_ , Sebastian. Of all the people you had to--do you even _understand--?!_ ”

“Kurt, dear, you’re trembling. Shall we sit down?”

Kurt pointed a finger at him, snarling out, “You’re _despicable_. If you have no respect for me or Blaine at least have some for a _child_. Quinn must have told you about the contract, for how else--?”

Sebastian nodded, clicking his tongue. “I knew it was about her.” He offered the glass. “Here, drink this, or I’m afraid you might faint.”

Kurt didn’t even look at the beverage. “Did she contact you? Or did you purposely find her just to continue to make my life a living hell?”

“Kurt, please, this is all a big misunderstanding.” He held up his hand defensively. “If I would have known you would have been upset, I wouldn’t have invited her--”

“ _Why is she here?!_ ” Kurt asked, loud enough he was sure even the receptionists heard.

Sebastian sighed, lowering his hand. “She came to me, yes.”

Kurt scoffed, tempted to stomp away and have that be the end of it. Instead he placed his hands on his hips and continued glowering at him.

“She said she saw me wearing one of your suits and asked if I could make an arrangement to meet with you. I told her, ‘ _hey lady if you want a piece of that man you’ll have to wait in line, trust me I’ve tried._ ’” He chuckled at his own joke, but Kurt remained impassive. “But then she said she wanted to see her son, which was also your son, so…” He shrugged. “Listen, _I’m sorry_ , does that count?”

“Considering you’re my worst enemy at the moment, _no_.”

“Enemies?” Sebastian frowned, looking down at the water as he stepped forward. “I like to think me as your...guilty pleasure?”

Kurt’s mouth fell open. “ _What?_ ”

“I’ve seen what you like,” His eyes had grown darker, his mouth quirking up, purposely taking their conversation to a different route. “You like security. You like to be safe. Blaine gave you that, due to his fortune. I assume you also like predictability, which,” his eyebrows jumped, “is something you’re lacking, and something I can give.”

He honestly didn’t know what to say. First he was so angry at Quinn, and now everything was twisting to this stupid love affair Sebastian kept trying to pull--

“Think about it,” Sebastian said, tilting his head, “I’m simpler than Blaine. Less grand, that’s for sure. Less...unpredictable. You think I come with emotional baggage, Kurt? I could give you everything you need--safety, security, and satisfaction.” He grinned. “Everything you, someone who has had too much on his plate for too long, could possibly need.”

The realization clicked. Oh, it all made too much sense now. The perfect team, double the trouble. Sebastian, who had the power to grant access to her son, and Quinn, who was one of the few people that knew about Kurt’s past and present. An impeccable combination, and Kurt’s worst nightmare.

He didn’t even have a chance to open his mouth, for since déjà vu always has its way, another person rushed through the ballroom doors, looking quite distressed and concerned, though that soon turned into bewilderment when Blaine glanced between his husband and Sebastian, talking alone yet again.

“Wh--” Blaine began, eyebrows drawn downwards, “What’s going on?”

Sebastian straightened his shoulders, flashing his white teeth. “Everything’s fine, Blaine. Your husband was just telling me how he was not expecting your son’s birth mother to be present this evening.”

“What?” Blaine squeaked, snapping his head at Kurt.

While Kurt widened his eyes dangerously at Sebastian, the other man put a hand over his chest innocently. “Oh, have you not told Blaine that she’s been in town? That’s a shame…Well!” He toasted the water glass at them both. “I’ll return to the party while you two can chat.” Sebastian grinned at them and then strode away.

Blaine’s eyes followed him, confusion and agitation evident in his features, until he turned to Kurt, then it was clear frustration. “Mind explaining what’s going on?” he asked, voice rising.

Kurt’s hands stayed on his hips, his muscles held too tight. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t--Kurt, Max’s _mother?_ ” Blaine waved a hand. “ _Here?_ As in in that room? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t know!”

“But obviously you’ve been keeping something from me!”

More stares directed at them, Kurt could feel it. If tonight hadn’t been a tornado of horror Kurt might care. Instead, he mirrored his husband’s anger, too exhausted and too furious to end this without some pent-up fire. “I’ve been trying to keep her away for Max’s safety, so don’t you dare yell at me--”

“But I’m your husband! I’m pretty sure that means at least telling me about events like _this!_ ”

 _Enough_. Time to end this. Kurt huffed out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment before saying in a calmer, even voice, “Let’s just sit back down, okay? I’m sure Max is wondering where his fathers are.”

The cloud of tension was static, as lethal as a time bomb. They spoke not a word as they went back in. Kurt didn’t look at Blaine, but he could sense his stiff posture and practically see his hard expression. The speech was over, people were mingling about yet again, and he could see Max craning his head around his chair to watch them near him.

To think this morning had been so blissful and just like that, without Kurt’s control whatsoever, everything could be mutated to an outrage. He wanted to leave this party, he wanted to forget these people and the food and just _go home_.

And he couldn’t even curse Sebastian for it all, not when a majority of the problem was _himself_.


	7. Chapter 7

“ _‘Sir--Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?’_

_“‘Obviously, you’ve just done so,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You may ask me one more thing, however.’_ ” Blaine read aloud, switching from his imitation of a young boy to an almost impeccable impression of Richard Harris, if you ask him.

Max smiled at that, it was felt with his cheek pressed to Blaine’s chest. Waking up in the middle of the night vomiting meant staying home from school for Max, and Blaine was more than happy to look after him. After all, he could use a day out of the office.

It wasn’t horrible, taking up his father’s position. It was just...different. Overbearing. Suddenly the entire hotel establishment was placed on Blaine’s shoulders, like Atlas with the globe. One wrong step could send everyone tumbling over. Not to mention he was still learning the ropes as everyone expected his opinion and decisions on everything. The assistants were nice, Cooper was impatient, and yesterday Blaine spilled coffee on his pants and almost broke down right there.

So, vacation day it was. And reading _The Sorcerer’s Stone_ to his son was way better than whatever the office held for him.

They were on Max’s bed, while at the foot of it Aurora slept curled up peacefully. A trash bin was set aside just in case, as no one wanted the Captain America sheets ruined. Blaine sat against the headboard, reading overtop Max’s head while his son laid soundly against Blaine’s chest. He could read alone but Blaine had a hunch Max still liked it when his fathers read stories aloud.

“ _‘What do you see when you look in the mirror?’_ ” Blaine read as Harry. “ _I?_ ” He changed to his Dumbledore voice. “ _I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks_.”

Max snickered, causing the cat to perk her head up.

“ _Harry stared. ‘One can never have enough socks,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.’_ ”

Blaine then read in his normal voice, “ _It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question._ ”

Another chapter over. Blaine reached for the bookmark on the nightstand as Max remained silent, which would be concerning, except when Blaine returned upright he caught the frown and furrowed eyebrows.

“What’s wrong, Max?”

“Why did Harry think Dumbledore lied?”

Blaine shrugged, sliding the bookmark into the crease between the two pages and snapping the book shut. “I dunno. Saying one’s greatest desire is _just_ socks is kind of suspicious.”

“But he’s a good guy. Good guys don’t lie.”

“Sometimes people lie to protect those they love. Does that make Dumbledore bad if he wants to protect Harry?” Blaine asked, silently thinking, _Just wait till you read the later books, bud._

Max gave him a _look_ that had his mouth twist and his eyes go wide, saying clearly, _Why are you making me question everything?_ Kurt had that same face when Blaine teased him on purpose, it was kind of hilarious.

“One of the Harry Potter movies was on TV,” Max continued while Blaine set the book on the nightstand. “But Dad said I shouldn’t watch it ‘cause I haven’t finished the first book yet.”

“Smart move. I mean, you don’t wanna be spoiled, right?”

“I guess.” Max went silent again, thinking. His hands were stacked one over the other on his rising and falling belly. Blaine stayed where he was and rested his head back, taking a moment to breathe as well. Legs bent on either side of where Max laid and his hands on his knees, Blaine stared up at the white ceiling, watching the fan spin around and around.

It was a nice kind of quiet. Recently he’s been so used to the tense kind of quiet. The ‘ _we’re not finished with this conversation but I’m done talking to you’_ quiet. The anticipated quiet as a room full of hardworking people waited as he made the final call. The quiet you get when you’re not what an employee or customer expected from you. This was nice, though. This had no meaning behind it other than taking a moment to themselves.

“Hey, Blaine?”

“Mm?” He lifted his head. Max had sat up to face him.

Max looked guilty, almost embarrassed, when he asked, “Are you and Dad gonna get a divorce?”

The question shocked Blaine enough out of his mindfulness that he couldn’t even speak at first. He just stared with a gaping mouth, unsure what or how this was brought to their son’s mind.

“Of--of _course_ not, Max. Why--what made you think that in the first place?” Blaine fully sat up as well, a hand coming to rest on Max’s back comfortably. He wore one his favorite t-shirts, something Kurt rolled his eyes at and muttered, “ _He’s just like Finn._ ” A neon yellow shirt with scribble-like font saying ‘ _This is what Awesome Looks Like!_ ’

Max ducked his head a little, the guilt growing stronger. “You fight a lot. You were really mad at that party. You...don’t kiss a lot and...Lindsay at school said her mom and dad fought a lot before her mom moved out…” He met Blaine’s eyes, looking for some sort of an answer.

The problem was that he wasn’t _wrong_. The conversation at Mr. Winslow’s gala struck something between him and Kurt, and so the tense kind of quiet emerged. But to think that of all people Max, someone who found it gross catching his fathers sharing a kiss, would observe this meant something.  

“Look,” Blaine said after sighing. “I love your dad, you know this. And he loves me and we are _not_ getting a divorce.” Even imagining that idea made Blaine’s stomach uneasy. “Right now, we’re just going through a lot. Stress doesn’t exactly bring out the best in people.”

Max considered this. “What’s stressing Dad?”

“Well, he’s got all those customers wanting suits made by him. They’re very important people, so I imagine he wants them to be perfect.” _Plus dealing with your mother, who came out of nowhere. Plus dealing with Sebastian, whatever that’s about. Plus dealing with me, who’s got a shit ton of more problems._

They tried talking about it. Honestly, they did. This is where Max’s ‘ _you fight a lot_ ’ probably came from. Whenever they would start on one topic it would end in yelling. Or defensive shouting. Or twisting the conversation into a completely different argument. They thought Max would be fast asleep that he wouldn’t hear. Blaine supposed they were wrong.

Max looked down at his hands, tilting his head and wondering aloud, “What could make him happy again?”

Blaine rubbed his hand up and down Max’s back, saying softly, “I dunno, kid.”

Kurt dealt with problems uniquely. Usually he would come to Blaine, _usually_ he would talk about it. This must be a whole different ball game, for getting information from his husband was like pulling nails. Kurt had internalized, perhaps thinking if ignored everything would magically go away.

It had been a while since Blaine caused his husband to smile.

The ceiling fan hummed above them. Aurora must have decided this scene was too boring for her taste, so she stood and leapt off the bed, strutting out the opened door with her orange tail high. Hand still rubbing his son’s back, Blaine glanced around the room. Posters of the Avengers and Ninja Turtles hung on the walls, with their epic poses and heroic expressions.

On their refrigerator downstairs, Kurt put up a drawing Max did in first grade. A fill-in-the-blank sheet about Max’s dad, Kurt. At the bottom, Max compared Kurt to his favorite superhero, a drawing of Kurt holding Captain America’s shield included. Too bad Blaine couldn’t seem to figure out how to be anything like a hero.

To break the quiet, Max shot his head up. “Wait!” You could practically see the light bulb glowing above his head. “I’ve got an _awesome_ idea!”

* * *

Blaine’s pretty sure _the Anderson Suites_ won an award on best receptionists, but honestly they’ve won so many he’d lost track.

He was chatting with a charming lady named Lori, who he had stopped by to compliment her new highlights. Although about a decade older than him, she had blushed and went on to compliment his bowtie, calling him ‘Mr. Anderson-Hummel’ until he corrected her to call him just Blaine.

Hey, if Blaine wasn’t going to be superb at anything else he would at least get to know his employees personally. And so far, he wasn’t doing half bad. His natural people skills got him to know Lori had been working here six years and has two kids, both boys, and both go to the middle school Kurt was thinking of enrolling Max in when he’s older. That, of course, got into an adult conversation of New York middle schools and if that one was the best fit for Blaine’s son.

However, a voice from across the lobby interrupted with, “Blainey-days!”

He looked up, seeing an all too familiar face on a short figure, who wore a blue polka dotted dress and matching high heels. Yet a new feature to her timeless look was a baby carrier with the handle hooked around her elbow.

“Tina!” Blaine quickly said farewell to Lori before he rushed over to his friend, adjusting around the bulky carrier to give her a hug.

“God, I’ve missed you.” Technically, she quit being his assistant. _Technically_ , he also let her go. He had a family now, and she had met a man down in Chicago whom she fell madly in love with. Apparently he’s a professional dancer and has ‘the best abs in the world’ according to her up-to-date texts. They’re not married, but according to the carrier…

“And who’s this?” Blaine smiled wider as he craned his head around.

“Only the cutest, most _adorable_ kid you’ll ever lay your eyes on,” Tina told him proudly, leading him over to an empty couch in the lobby. She set the carrier down at the coffee table and snapped the handle back to reveal a chubby face. “He’s got my good looks and his father’s weird love for blueberries.” Reaching in, she unbuckled and untucked him to freedom, then lifted the little guy out and half onto her lap, half laying on her arm. “Mikey, meet your uncle Blaine!”

The baby’s dark brown eyes scanned Blaine up and down in judgement, a trait also from his mother, before bringing his knuckles to his mouth and slobbering all over them. Underneath a lion-eared cap a tuft of black hair could be seen, and he also wore a onesie with little cartoon lions and elephants on it.

“He _is_ adorable,” Blaine agreed, continuing to smile at him until finally the corners of Mikey’s mouth went upward.

“Yep, Mike Chang the third.” She adjusted him in her arms. “My idea, not his father’s.”

“How are you and Mike?” Blaine asked, referencing to her love interest. He glanced over at her, hoping to appear nonchalant.

“Good, good. I mean, baby means busy but we’re figuring it out.” But she caught his wary face and in return, sighed. “What?”

“‘ _Blaine Anderson you need to find someone special and put a ring on that finger--’_ ”

“ _Excuse_ me!” Though Tina was laughing, bouncing little Mikey when he cooed up at her.

“I’m just wondering, as a concerned friend and adviser…”

She snorted. “Yes, _oh wise Blaine_ , how could I forget?” After shooting him a look, she lifted Mikey up and asked, “Wanna hold him?”

Even if it was changing subject briefly, he accepted, reaching out for the baby and gently bringing him over to his own lap. Mikey gurgled and pouted at the new location, but Blaine got him back into his happy place once he began bouncing like Tina had. He was such a small thing, and smiled up toothless when Blaine grinned down at him first.

“We talked about it,” Tina told him, now folding her hands together. “But we don’t want to rush into it. Yes, we have a baby together but Mike has his show to finish and I’m still adjusting to my new job...”

“Hey, as long as you’re happy.”

“I _am_ happy.” And Blaine saw it in her warm smile at her son. Blaine’s mouth quirked up too, then he looked down at the baby, tickling under his chin until Mikey started laughing, squirming and unable to get away. It would be perfectly fine with Blaine if he skipped his meetings and made this little guy giggle all day.

“What about you and Kurt?” Tina asked, tilting her head. “Are you thinking about raising a Blaine Jr?”

Smile falling, Blaine let out a breath, shrugging and not looking over at her. “Probably not.”

“What?” She was genuinely surprised. “Blaine, I’ve known you for five years. _Never_ have I seen you so struck with baby fever.” She nodded at him and her son.

“Listen, I’ve _had_ baby fever, and it wasn’t pretty.” He laughed mostly to himself, still attempting to make Mikey giggle. The baby was now dribbling all over his chin as he stared up at Blaine with curious eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Tina crossed her arms, pink lips pursing. “What did you do?”

“I...suggested the idea and Kurt was far from thrilled. His previous husband pressured him into parenthood and I don’t want him to feel that way again, so I let the idea go. End of story.”

“And how _long_ were you into your new marriage that you brought up this subject?”

“Eh...less than a year?”

In a span of three seconds, Tina’s eyes widened dangerously, closed out of exhaustion, then were covered with her left hand. “Oh, _Blainey_.”

Mikey made a hiccup-gasp and lifted his tiny hands up towards Blaine’s face--probably aiming for his brightly colored bowtie--but Blaine was distracted by his friend’s judgement. “What?”

“You’re so hopeless.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tina reached to take her son back, and when Blaine’s expression instantly dropped to disappointment, she grinned. “Well, perhaps his mind has changed.” She lifted a shoulder as she brought Mikey back, fixing his lion cap. “You should ask again.”

“I don’t know if now is a good time. Kurt and I are sort of on the rocks.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Blaine--_ ”

“Hey.” He lifted a finger confidently. “There is a plan. An _awesome_ plan.”

“Whatever you say.”

Mikey whined in disagreement when his mother buckled him back into the carrier. He lifted his spit-covered hands at Blaine, pouting out his lower lip. Blaine mirrored his expression, waving goodbye after he and Tina shared a hug. His heart swelled high under his ribs, remembering the feel of the small body in his arms. How he made a little baby smile today.

It seemed Tina was right with her advice, yet again.

* * *

The alarm didn’t wake Kurt up Saturday. Instead, it was two voices, one sounding heavenly and the other ridiculously off-key, singing loudly, “ _It’s a beautiful morning!_ ”

Kurt groaned, hiding his face away in his pillow before squinting his eyes open, taking in the bright sunlight and how the joyful face of his son was about five inches away from his face. Kurt’s pajama shirt had twisted around his torso and he could feel stray locks of hair drape over his forehead. Wait, what time was it…?

“Surprise!” said Blaine, behind Max and holding what appeared to be a tray with freshly made pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, as well as coffee in the mug Max painted him once (parts of it blue, parts of it orange, as well as messy letters spelling out ‘ _DAD_ ’). His husband was beaming, his hair not yet gelled and wearing his old academy shirt as well as grey sweatpants. Max had on his Hulk pajamas, and his brown hair was sticking in every which direction.

Drowsiness weighing him down like lead, Kurt slowly lifted his head and blinked a few times, trying to make sense of this sudden morning greeting. “Wha…?”

“We made you breakfast, Dad!” Max explained, voice far too excited for--Kurt managed to understand what his clock read--9:30 a.m.? His alarm should have gone off at seven…

“Blaine and I got up _super_ early and Blaine made the eggs but he let me pour the pancakes but I couldn’t flip them ‘cause the stove’s too hot--” No punctuation necessary for Max when he was this riled up. He climbed onto his parents’ bed and grabbed onto Kurt’s arm for leverage, not hesitating his story.

If Kurt had any strength available he would warn, “ _Max, no, you were just throwing up two days ago don’t go bounding around like a bunny_ ” or even give his husband a suspicious look like “ _Did I miss an anniversary?_ ” (Like Kurt would ever _miss_ an anniversary). Instead, his face remained in a fixed state of confusion, and Blaine noticed for he said with a warm smile (god, Kurt hadn’t seen that in a while), “C’mon, breakfast in bed.”

Sitting up against the headboard, Kurt had the tray of food placed on his lap and over the duvet before Blaine headed to the his side of the bed, sitting next to him while their son kneeled at the foot, calling for Lacy to come and join. Kurt glanced over at his cheerful husband, giving him a curious look. Blaine just smiled at his downward eyebrows and crooked frown and offered to tuck the napkin over his shirt.

There’s a TV in the master bedroom even though they barely use it. A flat screen, opposite to the bed. When they first got the house, Blaine would pop in a movie after everyone else’s bedtime and he and Kurt would cuddle in each other’s arms as they attempted to watch the film together. However, every time they ended up falling asleep and later waking to the menu’s music on loop. Now, Max turned it on to his Saturday cartoons, saying over his shoulder to Kurt that it’s the one he’ll like.

Stifling a yawn, Kurt smiled over at him, knowing that if it’ll make Max happy he’ll enjoy it no matter what.

It was...a very strange moment right then. A sort of flashback to way back when. The time when Kurt and Max lived in a crummy apartment and Kurt took a leap of faith, finally trusting his heart and asking Blaine to stay over. Breakfast in a non-traditional place. Max, though a little taller now, still watching superhero cartoons. And Kurt and Blaine, sitting a bit away in their own little world.

Max was mesmerized by Captain America flinging his shield like a Frisbee, one arm around his new companion, who had jumped on the bed after she saw the party happening up there. Blaine shooed her away when her nose tilted towards the tray of food, and Lacy’s sad eyes had no power to change his mind.

Still, Kurt couldn’t help but feel...odd. He and Blaine hadn’t exactly been one hundred percent okay. Since that gala, at least. It felt as if they were going through a routine of living. Do this because we have to, do that because it’s a responsibility. Oh god, when was the last time they kissed…?

Perhaps Blaine had a concussion and lost all memory of their dispute. His arm--dear god, did Kurt marry a total _dork_ \--not so subtly rose above his head when he yawned, and stretched to wrap around Kurt’s lower back when finished. Kurt had no choice but to grin with a mouth full of pancakes.

Pancakes striped with maple syrup and shaped like wobbly figures, Kurt had no idea who or what exactly, but he complimented to Max over the superhero battle how good they tasted. Max made a “uh-huh” noise, indicated he was completely distracted.

Perfect. With this opportunity, Kurt swallowed his food and turned to Blaine, keeping his eyes down and voice to a whisper, “May I ask why the spontaneous breakfast in bed?”

Blaine’s thumb was rubbing circles over his lower back, and he leaned in a little also to whisper back, “Do I need a reason to treat my husband?”

Kurt gave him another _look_ : arched eyebrow, disbelieving eyes, head tilted slightly to the left. Yes, Blaine, you do need a reason. We hardly talked since _then_ and normal people don’t just do this when they’re in our state.

Whatever episode it was, it ended with the Avengers saving the day. The commercials began, and Max sighed from his weird position of half lying on his stomach and half lying on the dog. “I gotta _pee_.” And with that, he rolled off the bed and hurried to the bathroom down the hall. Lacy thumped her tail a few times against the bedding before deciding to hop off and follow him as well.

Alone it seemed. Kurt, finished with most of his food, set the tray aside on the nightstand before reclining back against the headboard again. Blaine had scooted closer to him throughout this time, their hips practically touching. Both of Blaine’s legs were over the covers while Kurt’s stayed under. He wished they shared the same space, for he would just nudge Blaine with his foot to get his attention. Drawing his knees up and curling into him like a cat seemed to do the trick, though.

He’s trying to remember, did they really go a whole week without this closeness? Blaine’s thumb stopped with the small circles, now his broad hand curved on his side, sliding up a bit with Kurt’s shirt, then going back down soothingly. Kurt felt like shivering. Jesus, when was the last time they _kissed?_

“Thank you,” Kurt managed to say, forgetting he didn’t need to be quiet anymore but whispered anyway.

He lifted his eyes up to see his husband’s lips curl up, so close to Kurt’s face. He hadn’t shaved yet today, Kurt could see the shadow of stubble on his chin. “Of course,” Blaine said softly, gently resting his forehead against Kurt’s.

All those fights. That anger, that resentment. Being tense around Blaine vanished like a crumbling stone wall that had been built stubbornly around Kurt’s heart and it just _swelled_ to the point he felt like crying-- _I’m so sorry, I’ve missed you so much_ \--

“Sweetheart,” Blaine said after a sigh, his voice still lower than the television. “Can we...talk?”

Kurt nodded. He would like that. “I’m...sorry,” he finally said aloud. “I’m so sorry I’ve been like this. It’s just--it’s been a lot--”

“Then just _tell_ me,” Blaine told him, his hazel eyes gone wide and vulnerable and sincere. His free hand came over to catch one of Kurt’s, one of which were fidgeting in his lap. “Kurt, I love you. You know that, right? And you don’t need to fight battles alone anymore.”

“I know.”

In a nutshell, that’s basically what all their fights consisted of, Kurt just not telling Blaine. _Why didn’t you tell me this then_ and _Why aren’t you telling me anything now?_ A horrible, nasty sensation would always rise in Kurt’s chest and he would defend that not everything is Blaine’s business and _god would you just leave me alone for one second?!_

But Blaine’s right. He doesn’t have to deal with his own shit alone anymore. Blaine married him to support him in times like these. Kurt inhaled deeply, gaze at the faded crest on Blaine’s shirt (red, with a fancy letter _D_ in the center). “I didn’t...they seemed like my problems. Like, oh my god, Mr. _Sebastian Smythe_ for instance, is a little _worm_ and I wanted him out of my life ASAP.”

Blaine frowned. “Yeah, what’s going on between you two?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, not ashamed anymore but simply _annoyed_. “He’s…” But he hesitated for a moment, this subject not the easiest to start out with. “He’s been hitting on me. At work. Like, during his appointments. And I have made it _more_ than clear that I am happily married but he just won’t back off and--”

He stopped, noticing the shift on Blaine’s face. How obvious his thick eyebrows had lowered, the pursed frown on his lips, the intense _stiffness_ in his eyes. The hand on Kurt’s side had even gone a bit tighter.

“Blaine?” Kurt asked.

He blinked and shifted a little, trying to appear more casual. “Well, yeah--I always knew he was a dick--I just--” He coughed awkwardly, hand flexing, eyes not changing. “I could...talk to him, if you want.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. Blaine, acting strangely because another man bothered his husband with flirtation. Actually, the more Kurt studied his face the more he realized it wasn’t stiffness in his eyes but more...possessiveness.

Okay, this was kind of hot.

Kurt smirked, scooting closer to his husband’s body. “Don’t worry about it. I’m already planning on asking Jazz to get a different designer for him if he drops by our shop again. I’ll never have to deal with him again.”

“I mean,” Blaine cleared his throat, shrugging a bit. “He is tall. And...not bad looking...and tall.”

“ _And_ also a dick, like you said. And a condescending asshole. And rude. And other words I wish to say but I fear for Max’s return.”

“He probably got sidetracked with other important eight year old stuff. Like unattended video games.”

After a beat, Kurt squinted and asked, “Did...did you _plan_ for our son’s departure as well as everything else this morning?”

His husband shrugged in exaggerated innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kurt huffed out a short laugh and smiled a little, taking a moment while his hand did distracting things while linked with Blaine’s. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you about Sebastian before. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

Kurt snorted. “World’s worst liar.”

“Hey, I have every right to be concerned over other, more attractive men hitting on my husband.”

Kurt’s smile widened. “Well it’s a good thing I’m already married to the most attractive man on the planet.”

Blaine laughed at that, bashfully and genuinely. They were slowly easing back to normal. Slowly but surely.

“He was with Quinn Fabray that night,” Blaine said next, his smile fading. “Sebastian, I mean. At the gala. I remember you mentioning her once. Right after we talked about me becoming Max’s legal parent?”

Oh, yeah. Well, Kurt kind of had to. Max didn’t come from a stork or cabbage patch, after all. Blaine asked who the surrogate was and Kurt threw out her name, explaining she answered the ad and wasn’t allowed to make contact with Max before eighteen. Blaine could tell he didn’t want to talk about it so they changed subject.

Well, the subject was hard to avoid now so Kurt exhaled, long and even, and said, “Yes. She came here once. To our house.” Blaine opened his mouth, but Kurt quickly went on, “She asked for permission to see Max and I didn’t want her to so she teamed up with Sebastian to, I dunno, gain closer access?”

Blaine closed his mouth, considering that, then, “That’s...a bit messed up.”

“Yes, I know.” A pause, then Kurt admitted with downcast eyes, “And...it just reminded me too much of Liam. Of what he did to try to see Max. I _really_ don’t want history to repeat itself, Blaine. I was scared, and…” His voice had gone shaky. Blaine only brought him closer.

“I understand,” he said.

The two words Kurt didn’t know he needed to hear but when he did, his chin went wobbly and his vision blurred. Blaine hugged him closer, soothing his back, tucking him into his shoulder, shushing him, kissing his forehead and when Kurt lifted his head up--

Blaine kissed him gently on the lips.

Their first kiss happened in Kurt’s old apartment. In that ugly little kitchen, the night before their first breakfast together. Oh, how far they’ve come. He remembered everything in that moment. The gratitude for Blaine, the feeling of safety finally being granted to him from another person. The tug in his gut when he looked into Blaine’s eyes, then at his mouth. How when Kurt initiated the kiss it didn’t feel like falling, no, it felt like _flying_. Like something wonderful and _magical_ had taken off.

Now, Kurt felt like landing. Like coming home to something solid, as if suddenly all his whirlwind catastrophes settled, planting into place like connected puzzle pieces. In fairy tales, true love's kiss broke the spell. Perhaps they were right.

They’ve been married for almost two whole years, the magic has changed a bit but never left.

Blaine was the first to break, watching Kurt slowly open his eyes and saying, “I’m sorry, too.” His head ducked a bit. “For being gone so much. I know this new position has sort of sucked up all of my time at home, and it _kills_ me I’m not around you and Max as often--”

“Honey…”

“But I _promise_ ,” his hand found Kurt’s again, squeezing, “I’ll find time. I’ll adjust my schedule so I can be here. I was going to ask Cooper to take over more responsibility, since he knows what he’s doing. I’ll...grant more powers to other executives who’ve been in the company longer than me. Then I can help around the house and finally go see Max’s school programs--”

“Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

Kurt smiled, resting his forehead against his husband’s again. “I love you.”

The words comfortably fit between them after a week of absence. Blaine exhaled, brushing their noses. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Max’s Mario Kart game could be heard from downstairs, officially declaring Max’s job for this get-together was over. Pointing the remote, Blaine clicked off the television and then turned to Kurt, saying with his best look of sultry, “You know...if you wanted to shower now I could join you.”

Blush rising (c’mon, Kurt, you’ve been sleeping with him for years), he giggled and asked, “Oh, really?”

“Well...it was just a suggestion.” Blaine shrugged. “Since I happen to know you _love_ aquatic blowjobs.”

Covering his mouth from a burst laughter, Kurt whipped his head at the open bedroom door in fear their son would unfortunately pop up _right then_. His husband, however, had no concern as the hand he had at Kurt’s side happened to slip under the clothing, inching behind and under Kurt’s pajama waistband.

Just as he felt Blaine’s breath on his neck, Kurt turned back and asked, seriously now, “Okay, Romeo, is there anything else you’d like to talk about before we become too distracted?”

Blaine paused his movements, head coming up briefly enough Kurt saw the hesitation in his expression. The way his lustful eyes took a step back, as if remembering something. Though in the end Blaine shook his head, giving Kurt a half-smile before, “No, nothing. If so, it can wait for another time.”

His moment of being unconvinced changed when Blaine started kissing his jaw, and Kurt eyed the door one more time before hissing, “If we’re going to do this, hurry up to the bathroom. You know how shortly occupied eight year olds are.”

* * *

Jasmine the manager understood his request, and offered to ask some of the other tailors to take up Sebastian’s orders from now on. However, she warned Kurt that Mr. Smythe might not be as agreeable to this change, considering he is one of their most-visited, highest paying customers. And to prove her point, she handed him an unfamiliar business card.

“He asked to give this to you,” she explained. “For when there’s a ‘fashion emergency’ or somethin’.”

The red-printed letters spelling out ‘ _Sebastian Smythe_ ’ above the series of numbers mocked Kurt, laughing at his hopes to finally, _finally_ get that man out of his life. His hands shook as he stared at the card, jaw clamped too tight.

His future might have turned out different, if Kurt had remembered to throw out the card in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need a disclaimer for the Harry Potter part? Well, here it is: I did not write any Harry Potter books. That whole debacle belongs to JK Rowling. So, now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware I suck at updating. But hopefully this chapter of Anderson-Hummel family fluff will make up for it...?

Much to Max’s disappointment, five-star restaurants did not provide Happy Meals.

Kurt tried hiding his smile as he lifted his glass of wine to his lips, watching their son’s depressed pout while the waiter whisked away with their orders. Lowering the glass back onto the pristine white tablecloth, Kurt told him, “Hey, at least they have cheeseburgers.”

Max’s puppy-dog eyes drifted to his face, and he replied in the most over-dramatic heartbroken voice, “It’s just not the same.”

Kurt suppressed a chuckle, looking across the square table to his husband, who at a second too late, lifted his eyes up from his cell phone.

Smile falling a bit, Kurt distracted himself by fiddling with the napkin on his lap. This evening was Blaine’s idea. _Let’s go out to the city tonight_ , he offered to Kurt. _We can get all dressed up and eat at one of those restaurants you’ve been reading about. Anyone you want._

So there they were, in an elegant, royal blue color-schemed establishment, Kurt in a maroon suit and Blaine in a classic black one. Max requested a bow tie around his neck and Blaine was more than willing to teach him how to put one on. It’s been nice, having Blaine take a breather from work and back as a happy dad-and-husband.

Though he was trying, the _Anderson Suites_ cannot fully escape him.

They had been seated near the back, next to a glass-wall fountain where water fell almost silently, and close enough to the windows Kurt could watch the glittering nightlife of downtown New York City. The waiter immediately recognized the family name, and even said it with this sort of awe. It still felt weird, to Kurt, knowing being practically famous was old news to his husband but still a whole new light to him.

Blaine had promised he’d try to make time for family. While this dinner night was pleasant, and his cell phone faced upside-down, Blaine seemed to still be _on_.

Kurt sighed, and raised his wineglass yet again.

He must have took notice, for Blaine set his hands on his lap and smiled over at Max. “So, what’s new, Max-a-roo?”

Max made a face at that name, but answered, “I’m hungry.”

“I mean with school. What are you learning, how are your friends?”

After careful thought, Max said, “Jack burped really loud during lunch today.”

“How about anyone else?” Kurt joined in, catching Blaine’s attention going to him.

Max shrugged. “I dunno.”

“C’mon.” Blaine then crossed his arms over the table, smirking at Max almost _knowingly_. “What about that one girl?”

Neither of them saw it, but Kurt’s eyes widened and his hand clutched tightly onto his glass. _Blaine no Blaine I swear to god--_

Max, it seemed, was uncomfortable about this too and shrunk inward like a turtle to its shell. “I don’t like any girls at my school.”

Blaine only smiled wider. “It’s _okay_ to like girls, you know. They’re pretty cool.”

“Well, how do you know?!” Max said, almost to the point of shouting and Kurt shushing him quickly. His ears were burning red. “All you like are boys, that’s why you’re married to one!” He gestured out to Kurt, flustered and, okay, a bit adorable while doing so. Poor kid, unsure of romantic feelings.

Kurt’s insides squirmed around. Ugh, why so young and _soon…_

Blaine held his hands up in surrender. “Very well, you win.” He was still smiling, looking across to Kurt. There was a split-second of hesitation, where in that time Blaine’s smile faltered and Kurt snapped out of his despair-daydream. But Kurt remembered where they were, how Blaine was actively trying to put his family first again, and then Kurt smiled back, lifting an eyebrow as if saying, _really, honey?_

Blaine only huffed out a laugh and shrugged, going to fix the napkin on his lap. _Don’t look at_ me _, darling._

A few minutes of silence as they waited for their food. Though Kurt could see the temptation, Blaine did not glance at his phone. It’s on the table in case if Cooper calls for an emergency. Which, given how he happily took responsibility over a majority of the company while Blaine adjusted, he felt the need to inform Blaine whenever a “huge” decision or crisis occurred. Last night Blaine’s phone kept chiming over texts from Cooper informing him the hotel in Miami was going to expand on their pool’s courtyard.

Even though there’s less, there’s still quite a lot.

Max kept fixing his mouth, thinking. Kurt knew he was about to blurt something, so he waited patiently, taking in the exquisite restaurant Blaine managed to book at a moment’s notice. (Although, the name _Anderson_ probably helped). Multiple square tables duplicate to their own filled the main room, the guests just as finely dressed as them. Waiters weaved with their high-buttoned white suits between them. Artwork of serene landscapes hung on the walls. Faint harp music could be heard as background noise.

For Max’s train of thought, he finally asked to no one in particular, “Is there any difference between kissing a boy or a girl?”

His and Blaine’s eyes met each other’s instantly, and their silence only made Max clarify, “‘Cause like, they’re both just _mouths_.”

 Kurt dropped from the initial surprise long enough to stop himself from snorting, but it was Blaine who answered him seriously, “Honestly, I can’t tell you. I’ve never kissed a girl.”

Back to surprise, Kurt stared over at Blaine with a parted mouth. “You’re serious?”

Blaine shrugged. “Yeah. I knew that wasn’t for me early on, so I never did.”

“Oh,” Kurt tapped his fingers against his silverware distractedly, feeling eyes on him. “I mean, I have.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“ _What?!_ ” Max’s mouth hung open.

“Max, don’t shout.” But both their gazes were fixed on him, clearly wanting more. He rolled his eyes. “It was in high school, no big deal.”

“Who?” Blaine asked, grinning widely and enjoying this too much.

“You’re not going to believe me…”

“Ew, was it Rachel?” Max asked, his interest turning into disgust.

“No, it wasn’t--” Now Kurt was the one flustered. He glanced around, as if hoping their waiter would show up miraculously with their food. Sadly, no such luck. “It was with Brittany, okay?”

“Really?”

“ _What?!?_ ”

“Max, _hush_.”

“Now we need the whole story,” Blaine said, opening his palm to Kurt as if to say, _go on_.

Kurt glared at him but there was no escape at this point. “ _Fine_. We went to the same high school in Lima and I was the only boy in school she hadn’t kissed. _The end_.” Of course, he wouldn’t reveal all the details in front of Max. How he wanted to prove to his dad that he was just ‘one of the guys.’ Wear flannel and have a pretty cheerleader hang off his arm. Oddly enough, it seemed sixteen-year-old Kurt was mistaken, for his father told him he loved him no matter what.

Max crinkled his nose. “That’s weird. And gross. Why isn’t Santana mad at you?”

“That was before they dated, Max.”

“Oh...weird.”

Blaine was still looking at him and grinning, a chin propped up on the heel of his hand. “So, by experience, who’s the better kisser, me or Britt?”

Of course it was _now_ Max clapped both hands over his ears. “ _Don’t say it_.”

But Kurt tapped his fingers again, flicking a tiny smile at his awaiting husband. “Well--”

Blaine’s cell buzzed loudly against the table. All attention went to it, and Kurt’s smile vanished as Blaine checked who it was.

“ _Coop_ ,” he hissed, then looking up at Kurt, over at Max, and then back to Kurt. “I’m sorry, I--”

“No, it’s fine…”

“It’ll just be a minute, I _promise_.” With that, Blaine set his napkin back on the tabletop, bringing his cell to his ear as he stood and headed towards the restrooms.

Silence settled again. Kurt let out a long sigh, rubbing his eye and telling himself to just breathe. Why oh why was this so difficult? A family meal out in town isn’t too much to ask for. He knew Blaine’s wasn’t to blame. _Blaine’s_ _trying_ , he reminded himself.

Max was getting bored. High-class restaurants weren’t really an eight-year-old’s dream. He started kicking his feet and making _pfft_ noises with his mouth, craning around his shoulder at the water fountain. Then, he turned to Kurt, asking, “Can I touch the water?”

Kurt gave Max a singular expression his son had seen plenty in his lifetime, he knew what it meant without words.

In response, Max shot back a look Kurt had witnessed just as much. Defeated shoulders, hanging mouth, and wide eyes. _Aw, Dad, why not?_

After Kurt and Blaine resolved that weird conflict a few days ago and slept with actual contact between them, Kurt had a tiny voice enter his head. One that made him feel _incredibly_ guilty. Why should he be complaining about the life he has? With what he had before, he should be thankful for all these gifts graced upon him. A loving husband, a happy son, a beautiful home, a wonderful job. Kurt’s life took a complete turn for the better, given his circumstances before. _Why_ , the tiny voice asked, _are you complaining?_

Oh, but then the ever louder voice of Rachel could be heard countering, just like she had after divorcing Liam, _Kurt Hummel, you_ know _you deserve better_.

He just wanted Blaine back. Fully, completely. Was that too much to ask?

The waiter returned, presenting their food on silver dishes, pulling off a lid for dramatic effect. It seemed appropriate for Kurt’s chicken cordon bleu, however kind of hilarious when Max’s lid was off and there was the fanciest cheeseburger Kurt had ever seen.

Max’s jaw dropped. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

“Is anything wrong, sir?” the waiter asked Max, genuinely concerned. (Calling an eight-year-old ‘ _sir_ ,’ Wow, Kurt thought, these people wanted to make an impression).

Max shook his head slowly, eyes transfixed on his burger, with its parsley leaf resting atop the golden-buttered bun. “Nope. It looks _awesome_.”

Blaine’s meal was left at his spot, lid gone, losing the flair a bit. Kurt began cutting into his food silently, glancing over to Max, who didn’t know where to begin so he attempted lifting the entire thing and...tomato slices started falling out…then the lettuce.

“Max, honey, use your knife--”

Kurt’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He stopped mid-sentence, putting his silverware down and fishing it out (not catching how Max ignored him and let go of his burger with one hand to reach for the fallen ingredients, only making more slide out). Someone had texted him.

_From Blaine: EMERGENCY RED ALERT PLEASE COME QUICK._

Heart momentarily stopping and then rushing to high adrenaline, Kurt ordered Max to stay put as he hurried out of his chair and made a beeline to the restroom, eyes wide in panic and his mind blaring for some conclusion, _call an ambulance call the police call in a helicopter--_

Kurt swung open the Men’s Restroom door, which greeted him with black stalls and dark hardwood floors. At the black and white speckled-marble line of sinks, Kurt saw his husband. Not bleeding or dying, thank god, but tearing his eyes away from the mirror to Kurt, hands near his hair and a frightened look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asked, coming towards him and holding up his phone. “I got your text--”

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice cracked. His face was white as a sheet. “Look at this.”

Kurt eyed him up and down, squinting and having to take a step closer. “Look at what?”

“ _This!_ ” He gestured wildly at his scalp. Kurt could see nothing odd about it, just Blaine’s usual gelled-down dark hair. First he was scared to death and now simply confused…

Except, Blaine pointed at a specific spot, right above his ear and near enough to the hairline. Kurt came closer, examining it harder, reaching to touch it himself.

“I have a grey hair,” Blaine said grimly.

Indeed, it was there. Sort of hidden within the shine of the gel, but Kurt could see it, shades lighter than its kin. Confused, he gave Blaine a funny look and knew he shouldn’t laugh at his horrified expression. “Yeah? I’ll pluck it out if--”

“No, you don’t understand!” Blaine squeaked, covering the sides of his head with his palms, like that singular hair needed that much coverage. “This means one thing, Kurt. I’m getting _old_.”

Kurt snorted despite his earlier rule. “It’s one hair, sweetie.”

“But that’ll soon multiply to _two_ and then _ten_ and then a _hundred_ and, oh god, what if I start going _bald?_ ”

“Your dad wasn’t bald.”

“But...my grandfather was! What if it skips a generation? Should I just, I dunno, start putting dye in it as soon as possible? Or, maybe there’s like hair implants--”

“Okay, _Blaine_ ,” Kurt held up his hands, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a calm breath. “You’re not getting old.” He smiled at him, making sure Blaine met his genuine eyes. Reaching forward, Kurt played with his husband’s tux jacket, tugging it straight and then smoothing the collar. “You are thirty years old and handsome as ever.”

“But…”

“No _but’s_. People get random grey hairs all the time, so what? Maybe it’s not that you’re _aging_ , per se. Maybe...” He trailed off momentarily, biting his bottom lip before, “Maybe it’s the stress?”

Blaine, for a moment, tried to look surprised with this suggestion. “I’m--I’m not stressed, though. I’m not working as much...almost every task is set upon others, I--” He coughed awkwardly, eyes everywhere but at Kurt’s face. “I shouldn’t _be_ stressed.”

_You have the perfect life. Why should you complain?_

He kept smoothing the collar and he couldn’t say why. Kurt let out a long exhale, the restroom suddenly feeling too quiet. “Maybe we both need a vacation,” he muttered.

Blaine lifted his head up. “A vacation? Seriously?”

“Yeah, like…” He lifted a shoulder. “Somewhere away from New York. Even if it’s just a weekend or whatever. You need time away from the hotel, I can tell. Maybe...this is how our family reconnects again?” The corner of his mouth quirked up, waiting for an answer.

Rational arguments didn’t seem to _cross_ Blaine’s mind. Any counter point of _but our jobs_ and _Max’s school_ wasn’t said at all. Instead, Blaine broke out in the biggest smile Kurt had witnessed in a few days. “ _Really?_ Oh, my god. I love you so much.”

Kurt smirked and hummed, giddiness already rushing through his veins. From a person who liked planning and predictability, Kurt was surely a madman at this moment. Ah, the things married life does to a person.

“Where to?” Blaine asked, breathless and beaming.

“Hm, I dunno yet.” Kurt tilted his head and studied his husband’s face, squinting his eyes and smiling a bit more.

Blaine, confused at the attention, asked, “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just imagining you with salt-and-pepper hair.”

“ _Ugh, god--_ ”

“No, it’s not _bad_ ,” Kurt reassured, giggling at Blaine’s utter dread. “C’mon, have you seen George Clooney? Salt-and-pepper hair is _sexy_.”

With that, Blaine’s cheeks turned red. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m serious,” Kurt leaned forward closer to him, hands tight on his jacket’s collar, and grinning coyly, “You _silver fox_ , you.”

Blaine was very obviously trying to _not_ smile at that but he kept blushing so Kurt had to kiss him. He just had to. He’d swear under oath that it was out of his control, for how on earth was he supposed to resist _that?_

Their kiss was an agreement, a chance of saying, _See, we’re okay. We’ll always be okay._ Blaine tasted like the breath mint he had earlier. Kurt sighed against his mouth and felt a hand on his hip.

However, he did break apart first to say, “Yep. Definitely you.”

Blaine frowned. “Huh?”

“You asked earlier who the better kisser was,” Kurt explained with that grin again. “You win by a landslide.”

“Oh, thank god.” Blaine laughed. “Shall we tell Max the results? Or cut straight to the vacation news?”

They both went into deep consideration before agreeing together, “Kissing results.”

* * *

“We’re just super happy you were available at such a short notice,” Brittany said, lifting her baby girl off the floor and into her arms and smiling to the woman at the door. “I told Santana to thank her horoscope this month that you walked into the diner the _exact_ day we needed a babysitter. She said that the stars didn’t predict it, but whatever.”

Quinn just smiled with her painted red lips. “Of course.”

Brittany was absolutely joyous. She bounced Luna in her arms a little and went over to Quinn. “It’ll just be until eleven. Maybe sooner. Santana and I love going out for date nights but we also miss our little angel bunny.” She kissed the top of Luna’s dark hair, and the two-year-old made a huff sound.

“Not a problem,” Quinn said, still smiling, her hands folded in front of her professionally. “I used to babysit my neighbor’s children all the time. Since my husband and I hope to have a child of our own soon, I thought taking it up again might, at least, get me back in the swing of things.”

Brittany laughed. “Yeah, babies are tough.” But she kissed Luna’s hair again. “Not you, angel, you’re _perfect_.”

She raised her head up, talking to Quinn again. “Our best gay friends usually look after her, but they’re out on _vacation_.”

Quinn tilted her head, smile never wavering. “Oh? And who are they?”

“Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel,” Brittany replied, ignoring how her baby was pulling at her necklace chain. “They’re off to _Disney World_ , if you can believe it. You’ve probably heard of Blaine. He’s totally rich and could probably pay off all our debt, but _no_ , Santana says, we can do it _without_ the Hobbit.”

Quinn laughed, but said nothing else.

Sighing, Brittany checked the clock on the kitchen wall. “Well! Santana’s shift is over soon so…” She shifted Luna, handing her over to the babysitter. “Our numbers are on the fridge. _Also_ remember Luna doesn’t like Brussel sprouts, the yellow blanket before bedtime, the sound of our neighbor’s Chihuahua barking between the hours of six and ten, or any song by Jason Aldean.” She then gave Quinn a double thumbs up. “Call if there’s any trouble!”

After giving her daughter one more kiss and then grabbing her purse, Brittany was out the door and gone. Quinn simply waited for a moment, baby on her hip and lips pursed as she scanned around the now quiet apartment.

Really, the fates had been too kind to her recently.

Sebastian had been making progress too slow for her taste. Honestly, what did she expect when she put her trust into a self-centered man who apparently had his heart set on Kurt Hummel. Quinn took a step forward, studying the room left and right. She heard the baby go, “Mama? Mama?”

Perhaps her own lucky stars took favor on her. To further her mission Quinn went to that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Spotlight Diner--the place she remembered Kurt working at when she was his surrogate. Of course, she knew there was no _need_ for him to continue working there now, given his husband’s bank account, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be anyone there to help her.

Sure enough, the moment she set off the door’s tiny bell Quinn was met with a rather frustrated waitress, who at the moment was talking on her phone and saying, “Britt, if Berry and Kurt are _both_ busy then we’ll have to cancel--”

Oh, did Quinn seize this opportunity. It was easy to introduce herself and land the night as babysitter. Santana was desperate anyway. Besides it seemed, as she now strode into the living room of the apartment, all that hard work paid off.

Brittany and Santana sure made a humble home here. Nothing too fancy, however, it’s not like they lived in downtown Manhattan. The carpet was purple and fuzzy. Their windows viewed scenes from the street below. Scattered around the red sofa and the oval coffee table was an abundance of children toys, from stuffed animals to puzzles to doll house parts. On the white walls hung shelves bearing multiple picture frames.

Luna struggled to get down from Quinn’s arms but she only held her tighter. The photographs, Quinn discovered, were not just of the Lopez-Pierce family. From various stages of Luna’s life the same two men appeared in many photos, and even more often a young boy could be spotted smiling up at the camera.

Quinn’s interest stuck at a particular photograph, on a shelf eye-level to her and with a turquoise frame. Luna was perhaps only a year old, given the chubbier cheeks and shorter hair, and she wore a little Christmas sweater. She was seated in the lap of that very boy, him wearing an identical sweater as well.

He was grinning from ear to ear and was so _beautiful_ Quinn felt like she could cry. Chestnut brown hair and a slight dimple on his chin, a thin neck and the brightest blue-hazel eyes, Quinn saw Kurt in him but also herself. It was so obvious to see Max was not just Kurt’s son, but hers as well.

Taking in a shaky breath, Quinn lifted a hand towards the picture, ignoring Luna’s whines of protest on how she wanted down _now_ and resting her fingertips on the edge as if it would somehow vanish any moment.

“I’ll see you soon, my sweet Maxie,” she whispered, a secret to herself. “I _promise_ you.”

* * *

Thank _god_ not many families visited Florida in February.

Sure, since this was the most popular theme park in the world, there were still a huge amount of visitors strolling along the Magic Kingdom with them, herding their children or rushing to more attractions. At least Kurt could thank his spontaneous idea for being smart.

Max currently stood against a short iron gate, which circled around a trimmed garden and behind that was, indeed, Cinderella’s castle. He grinned so wide his eyes squinted. A pair of Mickey ears covered his hair and a Buzz Lightyear stuffed toy crooked under his arm.

Blaine squatted to take a photo of their son with his camera, smiling just as much. Kurt couldn’t help but feel happy himself, because, hey, they were at the happiest place on earth.

When they told their son the announcement he went _bonkers_. Max said he told his entire class and then every single classmate individually. He marathoned Disney movies and kept informing either Kurt or Blaine whenever he had the chance of which characters he _must_ meet. On the plane ride, he asked the stewardess more than once if they were almost there yet.

It’s every kid's dream come true, really. Kurt could never fathom taking Max here when they were off on their own. But, honestly, why would you want to visit Disney World without _Blaine_ accompanying you? The man had on a Goofy sweater along with Mickey ears to match Max.

Though, Blaine did wear sunglasses, despite the weather. The man collecting their tickets at the entrance did a double take on Blaine, then immediately asked if they would like a private tour, eyes lit up in admiration. Once inside the park, Kurt spotted select parents slowing their walk, staring a bit longer at Blaine once they recognized him too.

Sunglasses it was. At least it didn’t hide his pure joy. Once satisfied with the picture, Blaine stood and asked, “Where to now, kiddo? How about ‘It’s a Small World?’”

“I wanna see,” Max held his new toy above his head, “ _Buzz Lightyear!_ ”

“How about a ride first, Maxie?” Kurt suggested. “Like the Teacup Ride?”

Blaine gasped at Kurt. “Or the carousel?”

Max lifted the toy higher to declare, “Carousel!” Then he pointed at Kurt. “And _then_ we see Buzz.”

“And _then_ we’ll have lunch.”

Disney World was _massive_ and honestly Kurt didn’t expect them to see it all in one day, but boy Max did. On the way to the carousel Max strayed off the path to say hi to Donald Duck, who already had a gaggle of children surrounding him. Then they had to stop _again_ because Ariel’s Grotto was _right there_ and Max had to greet to her as well.

It was uplifting to see Max bounding around with happiness. Kurt would give up the world to have him feel this much joy always.

The actress playing Ariel sat with her sparkly green tail and bright red wig inside a faux-cave. ‘Part of Your World’ could be heard over the cleverly-hidden speakers. Max rushed up to hug her, making parents waiting in line behind them _aw_. Max then excitedly told Ariel, “You’re my Dad’s favorite princess.”

The actress looked over at him and Blaine--Kurt with crossed arms watching as Blaine snapped more pictures. She then smiled, and said to Max in her whimsical princess-voice, “Your dad reminded me of my own prince. They’re both so dashing, I was confused for a moment!”

Back on their trek to the carousel, Blaine nudged Kurt and smirked, “You hear that? Ariel thinks you’re _dashing_.”

Kurt only scoffed and nudged him back. “C’mon. Prince Eric has black hair. _Obviously_ she was referring to you.”

“The lighting was dark.”

“Oh, _please_.”

Blaine just smiled wider and took his hand, swinging it between them.

A vacation was just what they needed. Blaine hadn’t touched his phone all day. Kurt informed Jazz he wasn’t taking any business calls either during his break. All customers (especially a _specific_ one) would have to wait, for Kurt was spending time with his family, having not a care in the world.

On the carousel, Kurt stood beside Max as he went up and down on his chosen steed--a white horse with primary colors on its saddle (Max had patted the plastic mane and named it _‘Kevin_.’). Blaine stood outside and waved to them when they passed, occasionally snapping a picture or two.

“Are you having fun, Maxie?” Kurt asked him.

Max giggled and kicked his feet. “Let’s stay here _forever_.”

Forever was not an option, especially since the sun sank under the horizon and the lamp posts on Main Street began to glow. Blaine wanted to stop by a gift shop to grab something for his mother. And, by no one’s surprise, Disney had an _abundance_ of items to buy.

Most visitors had gone to save a good spot for the firework show. They had wanted to stay, but Max had started yawning and both Kurt and Blaine’s feet hurt from walking around all day. _Another time_ , Kurt promised their son. They had the entire week off, anyway. They could come back.

As Blaine searched up and down the aisles of the merchandise-crowded store, Kurt wandered around with Max, weaving between racks of dolls and souvenirs, keeping an eye on him incase if he broke something or whatnot. With Buzz Lightyear hanging by Max’s limp hand, the eight-year-old stopped and pointed at a display. “Dad, what’s that?”

“That’s an Elsa costume for dogs.”

“ _Ohhh_.” Max moved along slowly, only taking three more steps to point again and ask, “What’s that for?”

“That’s a Woody costume for a baby.”

Max’s jaw dropped instantly, and he whipped his body around to face his father’s and say, “Luna can dress up as Woody and I can be Buzz for Halloween!”

“Honey, that’s for a baby smaller than Luna.”

“Well, then get another baby!” Max said like it was logical, and then continued to wander some more.

However, Kurt forgot to follow for a moment, for the shock made his feet glued to the floor. He sort of opened his mouth, body unsure what to do for these seconds. It was an innocent comment, nothing else, and yet…

And yet Kurt hadn’t shaken it off as a preposterous idea. Red alarms didn’t start blaring between his ears. In fact…

His vision had pictured a pudgy baby with dark curly hair wearing cowboy boots and overalls.

Shaking his head, he told himself that today had been exhausting and once they were back at the hotel he’d have a clear head. That was all.

Don’t worry, their hotel room wasn’t at the _Anderson Suites_ (Though Blaine did make a joke about “sleeping with the competition”). Again, the name _Anderson_ proved useful again for they booked a room at, in Kurt’s opinion, the swankiest resort Disney had to offer. The Bay Lake Tower was over the top with luxury, even providing a view of the park. The furniture was modern and brightly colored, but more importantly, they booked a two bedroom suite.

Much to Kurt’s dismay Max did not get into bed at bedtime, for a final spurt of energy appeared. For a majority of the night he bounced on his bed, reciting every exciting moment of today as if they weren’t present during them. They got him to calm down, eventually, but at that point Kurt was tempted to pass out on Max’s queen size bed instead of traveling _all the way_ across the other room to his.

Blaine, bless his soul, managed to take Kurt’s shoulders and lead him out of Max’s room, whispering over his shoulder, “Don’t read _Harry Potter_ too late, we still have Animal Kingdom tomorrow!”

From Max’s room one had to cross the living room/kitchen area in order to get to the master bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed that park view this suite was so hyped upon. They missed the firework show from here from trying to tame their son. Oh, well, Kurt thought, they always had tomorrow. Or the next night, or the next.

It was strange, having all the time in the world.

Blaine went to brush his teeth as Kurt cleared off the bed. He set their jackets on the orange decorative chair and placed the snow globe of Minnie Mouse next to the TV. Yawning, Kurt then brought the heavy duvet to the end of the bed in order to loosen the thinner sheets. Square wall lamps warmly illuminated their otherwise dim room. The sink turned off in the bathroom.

Kurt sat down on mattress to scoot more towards the pillows--oh, god, this bed was so plush, he could sink into it and snooze for eternity--and stifled yet another yawn as his husband emerged from the bathroom, wearing a worn cotton-grey shirt and plaid pajama pants. His eyes looked drained as well, but he did smile over at Kurt.

“So this is good?” Blaine asked, knees hitting the mattress and crawling over to him.

Kurt hummed and nodded. Blaine hadn’t even checked his phone once back at the hotel. In fact, it might still be on the kitchen counter. For the first time in a long time, it felt like no one was butting in their marriage.

“I have the best ideas,” Kurt replied, reaching to tug Blaine’s shirt and bring him closer.

“I married the smartest man alive.”

“That you did.” Kurt hummed some more, the sleepiness sort of making him feel sillier. His hands found way to either side of Blaine’s neck, thumbs dragging back and forth across smooth skin, all the way near his jaw. He shaved right before they left. _Hmm_ , Kurt thought. He cocked his head and wondered.

They had all the time in the world.

Blaine watched him, bottom lip dragging between his teeth. “You have any other great ideas?” he asked, voice quiet and low.

“ _Maaay_ be.” To prove his point, Kurt went to press his lips to Blaine’s neck. In his vision, he acted suave as ever. In reality, he may have shimmied his shoulders a bit and grinned mischievously.

Inhaling unevenly, Kurt felt Blaine’s throat bob before he whispered, “Max could still be up.”

“It’s late,” Kurt replied between kisses. “And the door’s shut.”

With that, Blaine groaned and hurriedly captured Kurt’s lips with his own.

Now that Kurt’s fell backwards he could confirm this was literally the softest bed ever to grace his body. He sank into it as his husband pressed down on him, continuing kissing him and sliding a hand to fit along his jaw. Still sore and sleepy, Kurt lazily wound his fists into Blaine’s shirt, his legs dropping open to fit Blaine properly between them.

He then pulled a bit at Blaine’s bottom lip, smiling. Blaine separated to chuckle down at him, asking, “You tired, sweetheart?”

Kurt shook his head, his eyelids betraying him however. “Not at all.”

Blaine just smirked, and pecked a kiss to his mouth before his hands moved lower, casually undoing the buttons on Kurt’s pajama top one at a time.

Kurt remembered a time when Blaine thought their sex life would be boring. That they would lose their spark or whatnot. Honestly, Kurt could live without crazy bedroom aerobics if it meant being married to someone who agreed to be intimate even after a long day fueled by an eight-year-old’s ambition.

His next yawn was interrupted by a giggle when Blaine finished the unbuttoning and planted a kiss to the middle of his bare chest.

After wriggling out of the sleeves, the shirt got stuck under Kurt’s body for Blaine seemed to have a plan now of his own. His kisses traveled from Kurt’s sternum to his collarbone, the speed slow and unrushed. It made each press deliberate and gentle. Kurt’s head melted into the hotel’s fluffy pillows, absolutely in bliss.

Yet, he grew more awake as his breathing went faster. His husband’s mouth began going lower, over a little and--

Kurt’s breath hitching was quite loud in their previous quiet room.

Blaine’s lips sucked at his right nipple, quickly changing direction from his previous affectionate actions before. For his left nipple, Blaine’s thumb and forefinger pinched around it, giving it attention as well. It was technically unfair, Blaine knew how sensitive Kurt was and how quickly he’d get hard…

Kurt’s breathing turned heavy and changed into bitten-back moans, not even thinking twice about their living situation. His eyes squeezed shut and his head dug into the pillows. With fingers tightly gripping the shoulder of Blaine’s shirt, Kurt opened his eyes when Blaine’s mouth released his taunt nipple, only to see him shift to the left, his hips pressing down against Kurt’s when he latched his mouth to the other one.

This time, Kurt let his mouth hang as more broken-off moans escaped his throat. He knew he was squirming, body arched while overwhelmed with pleasure. Blaine only sucked rougher, getting his teeth involved and nipping at it. Fast breath from his nose could be felt on Kurt’s skin. He flew a hand to Blaine’s hair, face aflame and jolts shooting across his veins, the teeth biting a bit harder and then--

Kurt winced. “Oh-- _ow_ , Blaine--”

His husband detached with a _pop_ , lust-filled eyes wide and flushed face staring straight at him. “What’s wrong?” He brought himself up from Kurt’s body as Kurt gingerly examined his left nipple, and Blaine’s hand joined in carefully as well.

Kurt laughed, out of breath. “Geez, Blaine…”

“I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t...I obviously wasn’t _trying_ to--oh my god, I feel so bad.” Blaine’s expression was ridden with guilt, which didn’t exactly match his otherwise ruffled exterior.

“Honey, it’s fine. It’s so tiny I bet it’ll heal in no time.”

“It was just, like, I knew you liked that and then the _noises_ you were making--”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt touched a hand to the side of his face. “I’m okay. Really.”

Kurt called his husband adorable for many reasons. One was right now, because Blaine Anderson, this once infamous sex king who was notorious for countless one night stands, now had the soul of a puppy who was found at fault. Blaine, who stretched to pluck a napkin so Kurt could press it to the spot.

Kurt, though, would happily take a doting husband to a sex king any day.

It was then Kurt grinned again, meeting Blaine’s eye. “Was making your husband’s nipple bleed on your bedroom-spicing mission?”

Blaine’s exaggerated frown may have succeeded in hiding his laugh, but Kurt had no problem throwing his head back and cackling.

Again, they forgot about their living situation.

A sharp knock came from the bedroom door. “Dad? Blaine? I _hear_ you laughing and I dunno how to say this word. Can I come in, pretty please?”

The two glanced at each other for a total of one heartbeat before quickly rolling away from one another and hurrying to appear as innocently put-together as they could within the milliseconds for Max to decide he can enter anyway.

Parenthood never took a vacation, after all.


End file.
